***
Two hours ticked away, but it felt like twenty. Calvin was sure time was going backward.
To distract himself, he dug into his mountain of intel. He finished a thorough read-through of the Harbinger’s manifest, but it yielded few leads. Some details seemed peculiar, and he would chase them as far as they went—for instance, a few officers had served sentences for petty crimes like theft or vandalism—but almost every navy ship had supposedly reformed crew members with criminal records. Calvin’s information gave him nothing else to go on, and he had no reason to suspect one former criminal over another, and nothing other than prejudice to suspect them more than any of the other crew. Calvin returned to the communications specialist, convinced that, if anyone was involved with Raidan, it had to be him.
As his computer linked to the vast universal Nets, Calvin entered several passcodes to connect to the more privileged databases.
“Okay, Mr. Gates, let’s see what more we can learn about you.” He waited for the search to complete, but, before it did, the light on his desk started flashing. “What is it?” he asked, tapping the direct link to the bridge.
“Just letting you know Commander Presley has ordered a course correction, sir.” Sarah’s voice filled the room.
“What for?” He stood up and smoothed out his uniform.
“There’s a major astronomical event occurring on our original path.”
“What kind of event, Sarah?”
“From here it seems like the huge gravitational collapse of the TR-301 star. No planets or bases around it, but a black hole may be forming.”
“If it’s not one thing, it’s another.” Calvin rubbed his temples. “Let me guess. It’s going to delay us somehow.”
“The gravity pull is affecting our alteredspace stability, so we’ve asked the navcomputer to map a new path, ETA … sixteen hours.”
He sighed. That’s just perfect … a dangerous prisoner and an even colder trail. “Thank you, Sarah. Keep me informed if anything changes.”
“Will do.”
Calvin scratched his head and sat back down, trying not to stress about this news. A collapsing star was completely out of his control … but what were the odds? One in a billion? No, more like one over infinity that a major star would collapse directly between them and Aleator while they were in a hurry to get there.
Unless it was a forced collapse … Could someone destroy a star? And would they do it just to slow him down?
That was completely absurd, and he knew it. But so was Raidan stealing the Harbinger, and that had happened. The more Calvin thought about it, the more it bothered him that this star would choose to die at this most inconvenient of times.
He paused reviewing the data on Mr. Gates and sent an inquiry to Intel Wing, asking what it would take to destroy a star like TR-301. He had no astrophysicists aboard so he needed outside expertise, which meant Fleet Command would hear his inquiry too, and they might think it a waste of time. But to hell with them.
He called the bridge. “Hey, Sarah?”
“Yeah, Cal?”
“Point all our major scanners to the collapsing star and everything around it within a klik. If so much as a piece of garbage is out there, I want to know about it.”
“Yes, sir. Mind if I ask why?”
“Just a suspicion, Sarah. That’s all.”
“Aye, aye.”
The intercom clicked off, and he resumed his investigation of Mr. Gates.
Unfortunately information about Gates was rather sparse. He had medical records, proof of birth and citizenship, family and next of kin, school reports, a dissertation, but nothing outstanding. Except for a strange gap in his education. For one year he was away from school for no apparent reason.
Finally, after much research, Calvin pieced together something huge. Gates had been sentenced to “four years imprisonment followed by three years at the reform center on Primeva Major.” But the prison term was commuted after only one year, and he was allowed to return to school with a record that’d been wiped clean. Calvin kept digging.
For five years Jefferson Aldred Gates was part of the paramilitary organization CERKO. Calvin knew who they were. A small group of rebels that’d claimed responsibility for the terrorist attack that had destroyed the Imperial ship Lightfalcon B. For ten years CERKO had attacked police stations and had bombed government structures until the Imperial Military cracked down on them. Apparently, during the government raids, evidence had been found linking CERKO to Gates, as a sympathizer who had supplied explosives to the terrorists. Gates was captured, tried, and eventually imprisoned. Or so Calvin gathered; the picture wasn’t very clear, since he was piecing all of this together from several—somewhat inconsistent—sources, and someone had gone through and done a whitewash of Gates’s files, albeit a sloppy one.
“Now we’re onto something.” Calvin started a new search, hoping to find out why a former convicted terrorist had been allowed aboard a major military vessel like the Harbinger, and why Gates’s sentence had been commuted. But just as Calvin got excited, his intercom light flashed again.
“What is it?” he asked, unhappy with the seemingly constant interruptions.
“Captain to the bridge,” said Sarah, sounding alarmed.
Calvin jumped up and hustled to the door without another word. Not much in the galaxy worried Sarah. “What is it?” he asked, making briskly for the command position.
“The major just apprised us of a situation belowdecks,” Summers said, calm and well collected.
Miles however wore his anxiety on his sleeve. “The bloody werewolf has escaped!” he yelled.
Calvin looked at Summers, who nodded. “He’s escaped confinement, and both guards are missing.”
“What about the surveillance tape?”
“The major’s looking it over now.”
“Condition One alert!” said Calvin, and he pressed the intercom. “All off-duty personnel must report to quarters immediately and stay there until further notice—with the doors locked. An intruder is aboard. I repeat, an intruder is aboard. Consider him armed and dangerous. Until I say otherwise, Code Fifteen is in place. All decks are locked down effective immediately, and all active personnel are on continuous duty until otherwise ordered. That is all.”
“What does that mean, Code Fifteen?” asked Miles.
“It’s a mystery to me how you ever passed the certification exam,” said Summers.
Calvin opened a channel to the major’s office. “What’s going on, Major? I need a report.”
“Sometime within the last ten minutes, the lycan disappeared along with his guards. The surveillance record shows nothing, and we’ve just proven it’s a fake. Someone switched the tapes. And the audio feed we set up on that deck didn’t pick up anything either. We’ve done a sweep of the decks immediately surrounding the confinement area … so far nothing.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect …” Calvin let go of the comm for a second and looked at Summers. “We just had to bring him aboard … duty demanded it … well, I hope you’re happy!” He pushed the button again. “I suggest you activate all your units and break them into teams. I want every inch of this ship searched until every room has been turned upside down, every panel opened, and every nook and cranny uncovered. We’re going to find him!”
“I agree. I’ve already begun organizing teams.”
“And, Major, send your upper-decks team to the bridge ASAP. I want to go with them.”
“Acknowledged. They’ll be there stat.”
Calvin let go of the comm and headed back toward his office.
“Go with them?” asked Summers. “Whatever for?”
“Because I made a mistake that put my crew in danger, and I’ll be damned if I don’t fix it. You have the deck.”
Once inside his office, it was only a few steps to the weapons locker. He pressed his thumb to the plate and typed in the code—which took him a moment to remember. He’d never needed small arms on his ship befor
e.
He selected an assault rifle from a set of five and took an additional pistol with its thigh holster. He inspected the weapons, then loaded their respective magazines, remembering to bring along extras. The pistol was as simple as they came, but the rifle was thoroughly upgraded and boasted much more firepower than what marines packed. The manufacturer bragged this rifle could “shred steel.” And while that claim was certainly exaggerated, Calvin didn’t handle the weapon lightly. He returned to the bridge with it firmly in hand, aimed at the floor.
The Special Forces unit had just arrived. Five soldiers in total, a little less than a fourth of the entire Special Forces complement on the ship. They brandished a variety of firearms, all impressive, and stood rigid, side by side, in dark gray camouflage with black berets. He only knew two of them by name; one was the major’s second in command, Captain Jason Pellew. His body was every bit the rugged-and-tough soldier he was supposed to be, but he had the face of a movie star and a suaveness about him that made him popular among the women on the ship. Sarah’s eyes were glued to him, and even Summers seemed slightly distracted.
“Mr. Pellew,” said Calvin, looking him in the eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll start at the bridge landings, split the team in half and work in a circle tossing every deck from ten to seven.”
“Yes, sir.” Pellew saluted then turned to his men. “Staff Sergeant Davis, take Nassar and Uzbeck, and search the landings and the aft sections. Alenko, you’re with me and the captain in the bow. Now let’s move out.”
They acknowledged and saluted. Calvin followed behind Pellew, down the hatch and ladder, while the other team took the elevator. Once on the steel landing, they filed into the corridor of deck nine. As they passed a few quarters and offices, they began to toss the rooms. Calvin stuck with Pellew, and they overturned every inch of the quartermaster’s office before moving to the adjacent maintenance closet.
“Are your men aware that we’re not searching for a regular human intruder?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“It’s just the three of us. You can drop the sir, yes, sir stuff,” said Calvin. Pellew didn’t respond so Calvin added, “That’s an order.”
“All right then,” said Pellew. “I know we’re looking for the lycan we took off the shuttle a few hours ago. What else can you tell me about him?”
“Not a lot unfortunately. The major and I didn’t get anything out of him during our interrogation.”
They finished rummaging through the maintenance closet and locked it up again. “What I want to know,” said Calvin, “is how two Special Forces soldiers, experts, allowed him to escape in the first place. What can you tell me about them?”
Before Pellew could answer, one of his men jogged to them with a report. “All the men report nothing in this section, sir.”
“Inform the sergeant we’re moving to deck eight, then form up at the ladders,” ordered Pellew.
“Sir, yes, sir!” The lance corporal jogged off.
“What were you saying?” asked Pellew, who looked back at him.
Calvin decided he was more interested in something else. “Where do you keep the surveillance feed? I need to know who could have replaced the tape.”
“HQ, on deck one.”
Pellew’s answer was exactly as Calvin had suspected. The headquarters for the Special Forces staff was a set of small adjoining offices that were constantly staffed and busy. Penetrating it deep enough to replace a critical data tape undetected would be a nearly impossible achievement. Unless the perpetrator were an insider or had special talents. Making the mystery of the missing tape another question he couldn’t solve without more information.
They met up with the rest of their team and climbed down to the next deck, where they spread out and tossed rooms like before. The soldiers stormed through, keeping the alarmed crewmen in their quarters, and overturned tables and chairs, searched under beds, etc. But as Calvin had feared, they turned up nothing. Just as they finished combing deck eight, the major gave them a report via Captain Pellew’s radio. Fifty percent of the ship had been searched so far, and yet nothing found.
They continued their deep search to deck seven, opening every container, scouring every room, but they still did not found the lycan. The major’s other teams reported no more success. They were quickly running out of ship to search, and Calvin feared the werewolf’s keen senses kept him a step ahead, allowing him to double back to sections they’d already searched, giving them the perpetual slip. Calvin wished he could post soldiers in every corridor on every deck, but he lacked the manpower. And he didn’t want to involve the crew who were neither properly trained nor equipped to handle a rogue werewolf. He knew he needed outside help before a major incident happened, so he took Pellew’s radio and contacted the bridge.
“Put out a distress call,” he instructed Sarah. “But only use frequencies watched by Intel Wing. Inform them we have a 219 and need to be boarded by a large, heavily armed unit.”
Barely two minutes later she radioed back. “Intel Wing confirms the Avenger is inbound to board us, six kliks away. We’ve altered course to rendezvous. ETA … three hours.”
“Three hours?”
“That’s the closest ship capable of handling a 219.”
“All right, burn the engines at full capacity and get us into as deep a jump as possible. Hopefully we can reach 99.9 percent potential. Keep me informed.”
He gave Pellew back the radio with a sigh, knowing he could have expected nothing better. His ship was way out in deep space, a region inconveniently between the Empire, the Rotham Republic, and the Polarian Confederated States, and mostly ignored by the major powers. Just as the radio had changed hands, a soldier’s voice crackled over it.
“Team two found something in the port quarter of deck three.”
“In the storage containers?” asked Calvin.
Pellew raised the radio to his mouth. “What is it, Sergeant?”
“You’d better get over here, sir.”
Pellew looked to Calvin for confirmation.
“You heard the man. Let’s go.”