Episode 11: Under Falsehood Hid
Derek stood with Sandor in Captain Avatar's cabin above the bridge and accepted the call from Commander Singleton. "You wanted to talk to us alone?"
"Yes, Wildstar. The comet Executive Officer Sandor found before you left has shifted course. It's heading directly for Earth. We haven't notified the public yet This might mean nothing since its trajectory could change again. We don't know enough about it to make a hasty judgment."
"Agreed," Derek said.
"Have you discovered anything else about this force threatening Earth?" said Singleton.
"We found one small scout ship and destroyed it. We're following another lead now. Unfortunately, that's all I can tell you—that, and we rescued the last survivor of Olympia's crew."
"The lost science ship? It's been missing for over a year."
"It was stuck in a dark matter sea. That's where we encountered the scout ship and found the heading we're following now." Unease urged Derek to broach a subject he'd hoped never to mention. "Commander… I'm worried we may have a security breech onboard. That scout ship… it knew we were coming—that we would pass that way. Only members of the crew had access to that information."
Commander Singleton's brow furrowed. "Choose your circle carefully, Wildstar. If you have a traitor onboard, they'll cover their tracks—maybe better than either of you suspect."
"Sandor and I will stay alert."
"I'll check-in with you again soon." Commander Singleton signed off.
Derek sank into Captain's Avatar's old chair. "I'm sorry, Sandor. I should have told you before now."
"We all have fears we'd rather not give voice to." Sandor crossed his arms and leaned against the low bulkhead jutting out just below the cabin's wide viewport. "This is one I too would be reticent to mention, but… I agree. Something's not right. If there is a traitor onboard, we'll likely run into another ship soon, regardless of what heading we take."
"I'm less concerned about that than I am about… who it could be. Who would betray us? And how? If they're telling these ships where we are and where we're going, how are they communicating with them? And wouldn't that mean they already knew about this threat before we left Earth?"
"It's possible they discovered Earth themselves and recruited someone Earthside," Sandor said. "Or one of the crew could have come in contact with them by accident and been threatened into helping them. If there is a traitor, they may not be a willing party."
Derek tapped one armrest in thought. "We ran into these Gatlanteans on the way back from Iscandar. It could be someone contacted them during the year most of us were out on patrol or escort duty. Plenty of ships were out of contact for weeks or months. At least we have an idea of what to call them, thanks to Starsha's radar upgrade."
"There's also the possibility it could be someone we've taken aboard since leaving," Sandor said.
"But who would—" An alert rang from Derek's comm. "You were right, Sandor. There's another ship out there."
On the bridge, Derek viewed the radar screen from the captain's station.
"Radar's tagging it as a Gatlantean fighter, Scorpion class," Nova said from radar. "Without the enhancer, we wouldn't even pick it up. It's too fast."
"Minimal readings to go on, but sensors say the same, Wildstar," said Sandor. "Small ship, likely a fighter or one-person scout."
"Should we shoot it down?" said Dash.
"No." Derek clasped each shaking hand around the opposite forearm to hide his nerves. "We wouldn't be able to hit it, even with our smallest guns. Let it get closer—see what it has in mind. There aren't any capitol ships nearby?"
"Not in range," said Nova.
"This is dangerous, Captain." Dathan Feldmann stepped onto the bridge.
At the pilot's sudden entrance, most of the officers whirled in their seats, Derek included. He still moves like a ghost. How long was he standing there? "It is. But we don't want to let him know we see him too soon. That means we don't go in shooting. This could be our chance to find out who these Gatlanteans are and what they want."
"I agree," Sandor said. "A strategic strike is more likely to succeed. Stealth is in order, not audacity."
The rest of the bridge crew murmured agreement. Even Feldmann nodded quietly.
Derek sent a quick message to Conroy and Feria. If anyone can do this, it's them. They've both proven their trustworthiness in the past, and I have no reason to doubt either of them now.
Peter sat alone at one of the two-person mess hall tables. His tray sat in front of him, untouched. Feria was supposed to meet him here twenty minutes ago.
He patted his breast pocket—sewn inside his uniform shirt; Feria's letter was still tucked safely inside. He'd read it over and over during the interim between their coming home from Iscandar and when Wildstar called them together for this mystery mission. He wished he knew how to reply to all the things she'd written. How could he do justice to what he wanted to say to her—to everything he'd thought about this past year?
Is she coming? Did she… decide not to?
"I'm so sorry." Feria whirled in, got her food, and sat. "My fuel line broke. Feldmann tried to help me, but the new line refused to fit, and—"
Peter laughed. "I was sure you were going to stand me up."
"On meat surprise day? Never." Feria held up a bite of the questionable substance Peter was sure was anything but meat. The food dribbled off her fork. She set it down and doused it in synthetic Tabasco—Sandor's best invention, in Peter's opinion.
Peter doused his helping too. "Who made this menu? At least we only have to stomach stuff like this every few days."
"Probably Royster—or someone else who brought enough of a personal food stash to never need to eat in the mess hall—at least, not for three or four months. Does anyone like this stuff?"
Across the room, one of the Space Marines let out a hoot when he saw the menu.
"You mean besides that guy?" said Peter.
Feria snorted.
Peter braved a sauce-covered bite. "Not horrible. Could be worse."
"Like that stuff we had to eat for weeks on the trip to Iscandar when supplies ran low?" Feria's face screwed in disgust. "What was that? Cubed Styrofoam?"
"Nah. Cardboard."
"And Sandor kept saying it was 'nutritious'. I wanted to smack him over the head with a tray every time he said that. The least he could've done was add some kind of flavor. Even that weird fake vanilla taste would have been better. Ick! He's an inventor. He's supposed to make things better, not torture people."
Peter chuckled. "You always could make me laugh."
Feria locked eyes with him for a full second.
"Peter—"
"Feria—"
"Go ahead," Peter said.
Feria's eyes fell to her tray, and a hint of red touched her cheeks. "On the trip to Iscandar… you did a lot of things that were... very brave—especially when you helped save everyone from that space witch. You're an amazing person, Peter Conroy, and when this is over, I want to get to know you better."
"You were incredible too—taking Royster out in the Seagull against orders during one of our most heated battles and saving everyone—and let's not forget, you came with me on that pest control operation you mentioned." Heat crept up his neck. "I would love to get to know you better too."
Both their comms buzzed.
"Looks like no more meat surprise for us." Feria followed Peter to the organics recycler before they headed to the bridge.
Derek kept the radar screen up. The tiny target danced around Argo like a lost firefly until Conroy and Feria arrived. "Think you two can bring this in?" He pointed to the plane. "We need information, and taking in a Gatlantean pilot seems the least risky way to do it. You'll only get one shot at this. If you miss, we have to wait until we run across another plane—which might never happen."
Conroy and Feria tossed glances at each other, and both seemed… happy?
"We can try, Wildstar, but we'll need to get in a solid hit before we go after him with tethers, otherwise, he'll outrun us, and we'll never see him again. I'm not a good enough shot to hit something that fast," said Conroy.
"I'm not either," said Feria. "Feldmann should go. If anyone can hit that plane, it's him."
"Conroy?" Derek said.
"Feldmann's the best shot I've seen, even—no disrespect, Wildstar—better than you. I'd be glad to have him as my wingman again."
"You're not wrong. I've seen him shoot—and fly," Derek said. "Are you willing to do this, Feldmann? You said it yourself; this is dangerous. That Gatlantean plane could outmaneuver you without trying. Our Tigers can't match its speed. Even though you're not part of Argo's original crew, I consider you an honorary member. If you're not willing to go, I won't ask you to."
"If Conroy's going, I won't let him go alone," said Feldmann.
"Get out there and bring it in," Derek said. "I'll send Sandor and Clemens to the hangar to help escort the pilot to the brig."
When Feldmann and Conroy left, instead of motioning the XO over, Derek sent Sandor a comm message. "Is that translator you were working on ready?"
The reply came quickly. "Yes."
Within ten minutes, Peter launched from the hangar. "Wait for my signal to launch. We don't want him to spot you early. I'll lure him toward me. When he gives you an opening, shoot, but don't hit anything too important, otherwise we'll be recovering wreckage."
"Copy that," Dathan said.
Peter flew a lazy circle, stopping every few hundred feet, as if he were inspecting Argo's hull for damage. Sandor had rigged a patch for the Tigers' radars to emulate some of Argo's radar capabilities—just enough to tell Peter when the enemy plane was within range of his weapons.
He circled the ship twice before the radar pinged a target.
Closer.
Closer.
"Go," Peter said.
Dathan's Tiger shot from the hangar and darted past Peter. A single round of lasers pierced his target, and the Gatlantean plane careened end over end toward Argo. One wing and the long tail segment oozed fluids. The plane's inertia kept it moving quickly, but without the engine's aid, it slowed as it tumbled.
Peter pushed his Tiger faster and closed to within tethering distance. He fired the tether.
It caught.
Peter pulled his Tiger away from Argo and swung the enemy plane away from the ship just before it crashed into the bow. Too close. He steered the other plane in circles to slow it. "Ready for the second tether."
Dathan matched the Gatlantean plane and shot his tether. It missed, grabbing the plane's scorpion-like tail, and ripping it until the tail hung onto the plane by a few metal shreds. Dathan disengaged the tether and shot again, this time finding purchase on the plane's body.
Together, they hauled the plane into the hangar, and with the help of Dathan, Clemens, and Sandor, Peter pried open the cockpit.
The pilot's eyes darted back and forth behind his helmet visor, and when he saw Dathan, fear lit his face. He acquiesced to being herded out of his cockpit, but stayed as far from Dathan as possible.
Peter took a flanking position opposite Dathan and let Clemens and Sandor handle escorting the pilot to the brig where Wildstar waited.
When Feldmann stayed outside, the Gatlantean pilot seemed more than happy for Clemens to shove him into a detention cell with Wildstar and Sandor.
Derek motioned Clemens to take off the man's helmet.
The pilot's face was ash green, but otherwise, he seemed like any member of Argo's crew. Brown hair, once smoothed back by the helmet, fell into his eyes.
Derek stood five feet in front of the pilot in case he decided to kick. "Do you understand me?"
The man didn't even tug at his restraints or look up.
"I'm going to assume he doesn't," Derek said.
Sandor approached the pilot and said a few words in Spanish and Russian. The pilot seemed to recognize that they were trying to communicate with him, and he acknowledged Sandor once, but otherwise ignored them.
Clemens crouched beside the pilot. "Are you gonna talk, or what?" When the pilot didn't answer, he stepped back. "This guy's not gonna crack this easy, Captain. Not that we can understand him, anyway, but he's not even sweatin' about us catching him. If you ask me, we should let Feldmann back in. Did you see the way he kept looking at him on the way here? Like a mouse watching a cat. Kept shaking too when Feldmann got close. I don't know what's with either of them, but something's got this pilot afraid. I think we should use that."
"As much as I hate to agree with you, I do," Derek said. "Sandor?"
"Fear can be a powerful motivator," Sandor said. "Is it the one we want to use first?"
Guilt tugged at Derek. "We've got to find out if he knows anything. The quickest way is to make use of what we know about him. So far, the only thing he's let slip is that he's very uncomfortable with Feldmann around. We can't waste time looking for another solution."
"Let's take a seat in observation," Sandor said.
Derek followed him out of the cell.
Feldmann still waited outside.
"He won't say anything. I don't know if he understands or not," Derek said. "You're the only person he's responded to. Would you try talking with him again? Maybe your presence will encourage him to try to communicate with us."
Feldmann nodded and slipped inside.
Derek and Sandor took seats in observation.
"Is the translator working?" Derek said.
Sandor tapped the device tucked behind one ear. It was so small Derek wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't known it was there. No wonder Nova had been able to wear one for months without it being noticed. "It sifted through Spanish and Russian without trouble, but we'll see if it can decipher Gatlantean."
At first, Feldmann didn't say anything to the pilot, but the other man squirmed under his gaze. When he took a step toward their captive, the pilot strained at his bonds and tried to wrest free of the chair.
Clemens edged closer in case the cuffs that attached the pilot to the chair gave way, but Feldmann waved him back.
Why is he so afraid? Maybe they have different ethnic groups, and Feldmann looks like someone from a violent area. Do Gatlanteans have a class system? Or segregate people based on genetics?
Feldmann leaned close to the pilot's ear and whispered so softly the mics didn't pick it up. Whatever he said produced results.
The pilot blabbered in what Derek assumed was Gatlantean.
Feldmann circled the prisoner as the man spilled what sounded like the same thing over and over. Several minutes of this led to Feldmann giving the pilot an irritated growl.
The pilot fell silent.
"I tried, Captain," Feldmann said from inside the cell. "But I can't understand what he's saying."
Derek and Sandor met Feldmann outside the cell.
"What did you tell him?" Derek said.
"Not much, but even animals respond to certain tones of voice. He must have realized I was serious."
"Thanks for your help," Derek said. "I'll let you know if we need you again."
When Feldmann was out of earshot, Sandor's face turned grim. "Captain Avatar's cabin."
"You got it?" Derek whispered.
"Every word."
"It's bad, isn't it?"
In the captain's cabin, Sandor brought up the recording from Feldmann's brief encounter with the Gatlantean, but this time, subtitles let Derek know what the pilot was saying.
"I'm glad Nova let me study the translator the Bemerans gave her," Sandor said. "The reverse-engineering process took nearly a year to finish, but I'm glad I didn't table it. The translation for this seems to be inexact in places, but it's quite understandable."
Derek played back the recording.
"Please, please, let me go. I'm only a pilot. I lost my way returning to my ship. I'm nobody. I'll tell no one I was here. Please, release me and I'll go back in peace. You'll never hear from me again."
He repeated this half a dozen times, but when Feldmann said nothing and didn't leave, he kept going.
"My name is Mazer. Can you understand me? They said Darkone would understand my words. The Silver Queen will destroy this ship. It's been prophesied! The white comet will prevail. The darkone will aid us. We've received his messa—"
Feldmann stopped the pilot mid-sentence, and the recording ended.
"White comet? Sandor, he can't mean…"
"The comet heading for Earth. It has to be. It must be where these ships are coming from—where their base is," Sandor said. "And the Silver Queen must be their leader, but none of that is what troubles me most."
"Someone onboard is sending them information—like I was afraid of. Whoever Darkone is, we must find and stop them. If only Feldmann had let him keep talking, maybe he would have said more."
"We can question him again soon, but I think it's wise to leave him alone for a while. Don't give away that we understood him," said Sandor. "And don't tell anyone, not even Nova. If Darkone finds out, they'll likely take steps we'll all suffer for."
"I have to tell Commander Singleton about the comet," Derek said.
"Agreed. But keep the rest between us for now. I'll spend some time in observation. If the pilot says anything else, I'll alert you." Sandor left.
Derek sent an emergency notice to the Commander back on Earth.
"What's happened, Wildstar?" Singleton said.
"We uncovered new information, sir. That comet heading for Earth—it has something to do with the ships that attacked us. Sandor and I think it could be their base of operations."
"That's worse than we thought—much worse," said Commander Singleton. "We had no idea the comet housed the enemy threat. How did you discover this?"
Derek recounted only the essentials about the brief exchange with Mazer.
"I see. General Stone and I will present your findings to the council."
"I don't think they'll be so quick to dismiss me this time," Derek said wryly.
"No. Likely not. I'm going to ask that we accelerate work on the other Andromeda class ships under construction. Hopefully, they'll be ready to help defend Earth in time. When will you return?"
"Soon. There's still something else we need to do before we come home."
"Hurry back, Wildstar."
Derek saluted the commander and ended the call.
That night, an emergency alert on Derek's comm woke him from half sleep. Someone needed him in the brig.
Did the pilot say something else? Sandor hasn't been on the bridge all day. Is he still down there? Derek threw on his clothes and hurried to the brig.
Sandor ran up. "I was in my lab. The alert came to me too."
One of Clemens' security personnel stood outside the Gatlantean's cell.
"What is it?" Derek said. "Is he talking again?"
"No, Captain," said the guard. "He's… dead."
"Dead? But how—? When?"
"Must've been when I switched shifts with Patel, sir. He left a few minutes before I arrived. When I got here, I found the prisoner dead."
Who killed him? Derek stood in the open cell door. The pilot's body was slack in his chair, and a black char mark scarred the skin between his eyes. Whoever did it didn't even give the man a chance to fight. Darkone. They know. "Thank you. XO Sandor and I may have a few questions for you in the morning, but until then, keep watch while Dr. Sane and his team retrieve the body. And don't leave until I send someone to replace you."
"Yes, Captain."
Derek, trailed by Sandor, left the detention area, and headed for the nearest observation port. Once inside, Derek locked the door. "Our traitor found out," he said, voice low. "Did you tell anyone?"
"No."
Derek gripped the cold railing. "No one's safe anymore. We don't just have a spy onboard—we have a murderer."
Episode 11 Note:
Editing pass complete, 8/18/2022
The title for this episode was taken from Isaiah 28:14-19:
Wherefore hear the word of the Lord, ye scornful men, that rule this people which is in Jerusalem.
Because ye have said, We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, it shall not come unto us: for we have made lies our refuge, and under falsehood have we hid ourselves:
Therefore thus saith the Lord God, Behold, I lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious corner stone, a sure foundation: he that believeth shall not make haste.
Judgment also will I lay to the line, and righteousness to the plummet: and the hail shall sweep away the refuge of lies, and the waters shall overflow the hiding place.
And your covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell shall not stand; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, then ye shall be trodden down by it.
From the time that it goeth forth it shall take you: for morning by morning shall it pass over, by day and by night: and it shall be a vexation only to understand the report.
