Chapter 13

 

When Calvin stepped back aboard the Nighthawk's bridge, Sarah applauded. "Welcome back, sir, I heard you took out a hundred men."

He laughed. "More like a thousand," then turned to Miles. "And how many did you tell her you took out?"

"A million."

He'd met up with Miles on Aleator One but had sent him ahead so he could discreetly obtain a datadisc from Grady Rosco containing all the information they had about the Harbinger's mysterious visit, and, after Calvin had asked for it, everything the Roscos had on CERKO—which wasn’t much. Calvin held out for more, but Grady insisted that was all he had to give—so Calvin took it for what it was worth. But, not wanting to give away his association with the Roscos—which would appear greater than it actually was, Calvin kept the disc in his pocket intending to analyze it later, on his own.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant Commander?" asked Summers. She almost sounded concerned.

"Just a scratch," Calvin rubbed the bandage he’d received at an Aleator medical clinic. He took out a separate datadisc and tossed it to Shen. "Scan through that, run those prints, and get me what you can on these guys. I want to know who they are, where they came from, and how they knew we were Imperials." It had samples and details regarding his mysterious submachine gun-wielding assailants.

"How'd you get digital images of their prints?" asked Summers as Shen plugged the disc into his terminal.

"Cleverly," Calvin left it at that. He wasn't about to admit they'd been handed over to him by the Roscos. Part of him wanted to withhold that disc too, but he knew running the prints and checking into the backgrounds of his attackers was too much to handle in addition to everything else he was investigating.

"We need to send a report to Fleet Command," said Summers, "telling them about the attack against you."

"We don't know who was behind it yet or why. So there's nothing to report." Calvin didn't want the Fleet to start digging for information regarding him on Aleator.

"I think it's pretty obvious the Rosco family is behind it," said Summers. "I've been reading about them and nothing happens on Aleator without their knowledge and permission. Especially something this big."

"I'm going to have to agree with her," Miles chimed in. "For once." He gave her a glare.

"It does seem likely," Shen added.

"I'm not convinced," said Calvin. He searched his mind for some excuse to give. He wasn't about to explain that he knew the Roscos weren't involved because he knew them personally. "I saw the attackers. They had custom weapons and didn’t seem to know the area very well. That and they didn’t behave like Roscos. They had to be outsiders." Calvin did think they were outsiders, but everything else he'd made up. Part of him didn't want to hurt their investigation by providing bad information, but he needed some excuse to delay reporting to the Fleet. "So we're going to look into it some more before making a report."

"Are you sure?" asked Miles.

"Am I ever unsure?" Calvin became annoyed.

"Whatever you say."

"Summers," Calvin turned to his XO. "Did your survey of the system find anything?"

"Yes. The Harbinger was definitely here. Engine signatures about five million mc's out. Also, the ship's name was logged on the arrival manifest. But that's all we have. We couldn't get a good enough footprint to determine where they were headed for sure. Our best guess is somewhere in The Corridor."

"The Corridor, you say?" Calvin took his seat at the command position. "Let's try Brimm."

"Any particular reason?"

"Just a hunch."

"Based on what, Lieutenant Commander?"

"We have to start somewhere and that will do. Now, Sarah, set course and get us underway."

"Yes sir," she input the new course.

"ETA?"

"Ten hours."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" asked Miles.

Calvin looked from him to Summers. "We check up on our friends in the infirmary.”

 

***

 

When Calvin arrived, he found the infirmary locked down. He approached and two soldiers stood down for him to pass.

The door whisked open and he stepped into the infirmary. It was a medium-sized rectangular room crowded with beds, computers, and all kinds of technology he didn’t understand. In the far corner, Dr. Monte Blair was stroking his thin grey beard while looking over an X-ray monitor and giving out sporadic orders to some of the other medics.

"Hello there," said Calvin.

Monte looked up and, upon seeing Calvin, ambled over. "What brings you here?"

"I want to know about our injured soldiers," he noticed them on two of the beds. One still had his eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping but the other was sitting up, bent over and running a hand over his buzzed hair—he seemed distant, almost unaware of his surroundings. They both looked much better than they previously had. "They seem to be doing okay."

"They've both regained consciousness—don't let that one fool you, he's not asleep just resting," Monte shook his head. "Neither are ready to return to duty yet, however. Mitchell has some swelling and they both have head and neck pain. Nothing serious, no spinal damage or anything. They're going to be fine."

"Are they up for some questioning?"

"I think so, just go easy on them for now. In an hour or two they'll be free to leave and return to Special Forces HQ."

"OK," said Calvin. "I’d like to interview them in a more private environment,” his eyes shifted from the noisy machines to the busy staff.

“How about my quarters?” offered the doctor.

“Perfect, and I’d like you to come along.”

“Of course I’m coming, it’s my quarter.”

Once they were all together behind closed doors Calvin got right to the point. “I’d like to know how you were incapacitated and put into that container.” He said, looking one of them in the eyes—“Adams” was stitched to his fatigues and he wore the emblem of master sergeant.

"I don't know," said Adams.

"Dr. Blair told us what happened, how you found us and all," said Mitchell—the other soldier. "But we don't remember any of that. It's not like we would have let someone put us there by choice. I mean, what if we ran out of water or air or something?" Mitchell sounded edgy, almost defensive.

"I'm not implying you let yourselves be overpowered, soldier. I just want to know what happened. When a prisoner escapes and surveillance footage disappears, and two of the Empire's finest soldiers get taken down on my ship, I want to know why and how."

"Makes sense," said Adams. He shot Mitchell a look that made him hold his tongue. Calvin wondered if he were sending him instructions on how to handle this conversation, perhaps to keep a secret.

"OK let's take it back a step. You don't remember being put in the container, what about before that? Were you in a fight? Did you catch a glimpse of your attacker?"

Adams shook his head slowly. "No we weren't in a fight. And no, I didn't see anything, did you?" He looked at Mitchell who shook his head.

Calvin kept pressing. "Did you hear anything? A footstep? The crackle of the forcefield powering down? Anything at all?"

"No."

It really did seem like they were sending each other signals on how to answer. Shifty eyes, nervous glances, subtle body language, Mitchell's defensive posture...

Calvin ordered one of them out of the room so he could talk to them individually.

"OK, Adams," said Calvin. "What is the last thing you do remember? You were guarding the brig, the werewolf was behind the forcefield, then what happened?"

"We stood guard as ordered, sir."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Until I woke up in the infirmary."

"So you have no idea how the forcefield was deactivated?"

"No, sir."

"Did the prisoner say anything to either you or Mitchell?"

"No, sir."

"How long were you standing guard before your memory gets all fuzzy?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Dammit, make a guess, son," said Monte.

"Umm... I dunno. Maybe ten minutes or so. I'm sorry, sir, I really don't know," he paused. "I was standing there, gun in my hands, and that's the last thing I remember."

Calvin looked into the man's face, particularly his eyes. He was perfectly calm, eyes steady, face placid. Even his voice was smooth and crisp. Calvin couldn't decide if that meant he should trust him or not. Either he told the truth or his lie was masterfully practiced, perhaps overly so.

"Thank you, Adams, that will be all."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Mitchell to come in on your way out."

With a nod, Adams left.

"What do you think?" Calvin looked over at Monte who now had his feet up on his coffee table.

"He might be telling the truth. It is possible for someone to lose consciousness and not remember the moment when it happened. Like the instant when you fall asleep, you can't remember that."

The door opened and in stepped Mitchell. Calvin ordered him to take a seat.

"Mitchell, what is the last thing you remember before waking up in the infirmary?"

"I don't know, I don't remember."

Calvin sat up. What a strange response. "You mean you don't remember the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know." He said abruptly—not nearly as well-composed as Adams. But he wasn't sweating or trembling either. Just sharp, abrasive, and a bit thoughtless.

"It's very important that you listen to me carefully," Calvin spoke slowly. "And answer truthfully and completely. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"What is the last thing you do remember?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you're not hearing me, soldier," Calvin's voice sharpened. "But that's not what remember means. When I ask you what the last thing is you remember, you tell me the last thing you can think of. Do you remember being put on duty in the brig area?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember the prisoner there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Describe him for me, please."

"A man, early thirties, brown hair, red eyes, light brown skin."

"Did you notice anything peculiar about him?"

"Yes sir, his eyes were red at first. Glowing bright red."

"How red?"

"Red sir."

"How red?"

"Very red."

"I said, how red?"

The soldier shrugged. "Red like... an apple that's on fire."

"That's better," Calvin relaxed. "Now, what is the last thing you remember?"

"I was on duty with Adams. We were standing guard by the prisoner. And that's all I remember."

"How long were you on duty?"

"I don't know."

"How long..." Calvin paused, "before the prisoner made his move."

"I don't know. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten."

"Did he say anything to either of you at any time?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean, I don't remember, sir."

"And if you had to make a guess?"

"I'd say no. I don't think he did. Or, if he did, I didn't hear him. He really didn't seem like the talkative sort."

"Did anyone else come onto that deck or walk by?"

"No sir."

"No or you don't remember."

"No sir, they did not."

Calvin drummed his fingers on the table beside him. "Okay, thank you, Mitchell, you're free to go."

Mitchell saluted and left.

"One person with amnesia is one thing," said Calvin, looking at Monte once more, "but two people forgetting the exact same thing at the exact same time, doesn't that seem improbable?"

"Yes, it does," Monte admitted. "Unless neither of them were looking the right way. You can't remember something you didn't see."

"Could be," said Calvin, wondering. "Or maybe they were tricked into lowering the forcefield and they’re both too ashamed to admit it. So they conveniently don't remember."

"Our soldiers are trained better than that."

"I would hope so. The only other logical conclusion that I can see," said Calvin, "is that someone let the lycan go. How else could the forcefield be powered-down and the surveillance footage go missing?"

"You think these soldiers let the prisoner go on purpose, and then tried to hide it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," said Calvin. "They weren't in any position to switch out the surveillance footage," he paused. "But someone did that. Either that someone was working with Mitchell and Adams, and had their full cooperation, or else arranged for them to be taken down and stuffed away in that container."

"Don't you think, if they were co-conspirators, the odds of them both being randomly assigned to guard the prisoner is a bit slim?" asked Monte.

"Unless the person who assigned them to guard the prisoner was in on it."

"Major Jenkins?" Monte laughed. "No way!"

Calvin agreed that sounded absurd. He'd known Jenkins long enough to be sure of his character, and he would never, under any circumstances, compromise his own unit to let a dangerous prisoner roam free. But, Calvin realized, there was always the slim chance he was wrong.

"You Intel Wing types are always seeing too much into things. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"Sometimes," said Calvin. "But not always." Silently he agreed with the doctor. None of these suspects had motive to let Tristan go. And none of them could have known in advance Tristan would be on the ship. It was a dead end.

"It could be amnesia," said Monte. "What's important to establish here is, what is causing them to forget?"

Calvin rubbed his chin. "Could it be some kind of drug?"

"I don’t know. I have mixed feelings about that hypothesis," said Monte. "Giving someone a drug intended to take effect later in the day can be rather imprecise, especially when you want it to affect two people of different sizes at the exact same time and the exact same way. It's not as simple as it looks in the movies. Most likely, what would happen, is that one soldier would go down before the other. And the one still standing would have plenty of time to alert someone."

"What about when the dentist put me out to take out my wisdom teeth? I was out like a light after only a few seconds."

"That's a really strong general anesthesia. With something like that, total unconsciousness can be achieved in no time with guaranteed loss of memory. But it would have to be administered shortly before the patients—I mean soldiers—became unconscious, and there are all kinds of complexities. For instance, the person could easily stop breathing, or if they're undermedicated they could have dangerously high blood pressure. Not to mention the anesthesia must be maintained, to keep someone out for an extended amount of time. It would be dangerous and complicated."

"What about blunt injuries?" asked Calvin. "You know, blows to the head."

"Their bruises and trauma weren't severe enough to suggest that," said Monte. "And that would risk neck and spinal injuries. Maybe the culprit wouldn’t care about our soldiers’ long term health, but whether or not he did, neither Mitchell nor Adams experienced any kind of trauma that would have risked a long term injury. So, considering that, maybe the culprit did have some motive in keeping our men intact. If so, then knocking them out with blunt force, that carefully and precisely, seems as likely as the lycan using some kind of magical lycan ability to do all of this."

"So what is your working theory?"

"I don't have any working theories. I just patch people up and figure out ways to make them feel better. How they end up in one of my hospital beds is their business."

"Okay, thanks," said Calvin with a sigh. Unsure how to keep investigating this angle.