Black Box (17 page)

Slowly, Beckett drew his sidearm and aimed
into the jungle ahead of him.

Burbank tensed, but he put a hand out. “I’m
just trying to recreate the scene.”

Cummings could have pivoted on the spot, but
that would be a condition they would only have to consider if the
obvious didn’t pan out. It seemed likely that he’d fired into the
area through which Rodrigo had eventually pursued the sniper. There
were multiple boot prints, but they weren’t clear. Beckett was
finding it increasingly difficult to believe that Cummings had
panicked and fired at nothing.

“Bonamo, go into those trees and see if you
can find Cummings’ slug.”

The young man went without hesitation, but
stopped just before the tree line, something on his right side
attracting his attention. Beckett was involved in another direction
and didn’t notice the soldier bend and pick up what looked like a
rounded piece of plastic. The plastic was mangled and there were
the remnants of circuitry hanging off one side.

“What’s that, Mr. Bonamo?” asked Cabrera,
stepping forward. Burbank, left alone, looked desperately for
something to do. She moved off toward the break in the trees where
the sergeant had gone crashing through, thinking to investigate it
while Bonamo was involved with something else.

“I think it’s Sergeant Rodrigo’s shoulder
pad,” he answered, looking carefully at the damage. By now, Beckett
was looking up at him and waiting for a conclusion, but Bonamo
didn’t notice. Switching on his flashlight, he moved to the tree
nearest the spot of the fallen piece of armor and began to do a
careful inspection of the bark. He looked higher and lower,
scanning all the way down to the roots. “I’ve got some blood over
here, sir.”

The captain hurried over and allowed Bonamo
to show him what he had discovered. Obviously, this was the place
Rodrigo had been standing when she had been wounded. Her boot
prints were everywhere. But the blood splatter indicated that she
had been hit from behind. In addition, it didn’t take an expert to
see that she hadn’t been in mid dive when she’d been hit, which
contradicted her report.

“Look at this, sir,” Bonamo said, handing
over the shoulder pad.

Beckett looked at it and knew the problem
right away. “This is ballistics damage.”

Bonamo nodded, taking back the pad and
placing it on his own shoulder. Though he wasn’t Rodrigo’s height,
nor was he standing in exactly the same spot, he was hoping to
determine the ricochet pattern.

“Samantha, did Soames pull a bullet out of
Anabelle’s shoulder.”

She shook her head, bewildered. “She
reported an injury consistent with a laser burn.”

Soames had lied on her report.

“Found it,” Bonamo shouted. He pulled his
knife from his belt and began digging into the soft bark of a
nearby tree. In the four steps it took Beckett to reach him, he had
already dug out the slug and was nodding to himself. “It’s
definitely from Cummings’ gun, Captain.”

Beckett froze, looked back at Cummings’
position, looked at the slug in Bonamo’s hand. Of all of the things
going through his mind, one stood out. Cummings never missed.

“He shot Rodrigo?”

“It looks that way, sir.”

“Why would he shoot Rodrigo?”

It was a question that Bonamo couldn’t
answer.

“Captain?”

Beckett turned to see Burbank coming out of
the broken area with something in her hand. It was a heavy pistol
of some unknown make. Beckett took it from her and studied it. The
grip and trigger guard were melted together and the top of the
chamber had collapsed. There was a place in the grip for what
looked like a magazine cartridge, but he could never have
identified the type of bullets that went into it. Turning, he
handed it off to Bonamo.

“It’s a
Locklear
, captain.” Beckett
had never heard of a
Locklear
. When that became apparent,
Bonamo continued. “It’s a beam weapon, the only weapon ever
designed by
Locklear Technologies
. They tried to sell it to
the New Earth military, but it wasn’t very efficient and the entire
production wound up dispersed among the pirate groups. An expert
could get 5 shots out of a cartridge and the thing had the tendency
to flame up, like this one did. You can see the handprint. It must
have hurt like hell.”

I’ll bet
, the captain thought noting
that the handprint was both from a human hand and from a left
hand.

“Welcome aboard, Sergeant!”

Beckett was all smiles. It had taken him
seven years of fighting and clawing to get Anabelle Rodrigo
assigned to his ship. He had begged and cajoled every high ranking
official who would give him the time of day and all for naught. The
Admiralty
, in their infinite sadism, refused to put him and
Rodrigo back together.

So he had changed tactics.

His Infantry Officer, a guy by the name of
Bryce Hemmingway, had been a decent sort. He was a tough guy, old
school, and he was just the kind of officer who should have done
well aboard the
Valor
under Beckett’s command.
Unfortunately, he didn’t fit into the agenda. For two years, the
captain mercilessly undermined Hemmingway, declaring him
incompetent. Hardy had had mixed feelings on the subject, but, as
always, was loyal to the captain. When it became clear to
Hemmingway that the
Valor
wasn’t the place for him, he had
retired outright, not even bothering to try and get transferred out
of the fleet’s worst dead end.

John Poulle wasn’t stupid. After
Hemmingway’s last tour, he’d called Beckett into a conference and
chewed him out for destroying the career of one of the best
officers he’d ever had. Beckett was without regret and simply
stated that it opened a hole for Rodrigo to finally be promoted and
sent somewhere where she would be appreciated.

Poulle had just laughed.

Beckett hadn’t taken that well. He’d stood
and gotten right in the admiral’s face. “You listen to me, John. I
went easy on Hemmingway because he was a good guy. If you send me
anyone but Rodrigo, I’ll send his ass out on a spacewalk in his
underwear. I’ll drag a retirement out of every officer you put on
my ship.”

Poulle, never one to be intimidated, laughed
again. “It’s a good thing I’m not recording this, Ted. The other
admirals would sell their mothers for grounds to bust you.”

Beckett didn’t give a shit about the other
admirals and Poulle knew it, but a couple of days later, his
sergeant was transferred off ship and Rodrigo was reassigned...as
his sergeant. It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but it was better than
nothing.

Rodrigo’s features were soft as she saluted
her captain. “I was a little surprised,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’m not completely without
influence.”

“Yes you are. Who’s the new IO?”

Now Beckett laughed out loud. “For all
intents and purposes, you are. Have you ever heard of William
Boone?"

She nodded. Boone had a reputation for
laying low and doing very little.

Beckett had requested him. He was too weak
to challenge Rodrigo and too young to retire. He was perfect.

Rodrigo thought so, too. “I knew I liked you
for a reason.”

“Likewise. Those fucking admirals think they
know what makes a good crew. The
Valor
has the best crew in
the fleet.”

Rodrigo frowned, “Minus William Boone, of
course.”

Beckett grinned. “He serves his purpose.
Let’s never forget to give him credit for that.”

He showed her to the infantry barracks. He
would have bunked her with another officer and put Boone in the
barracks, but the soldiers would kill him. Besides which, there was
only so much he’d be able to get away with. He could treat Rodrigo
like the officer and Boone like a noncom, but not more than
that.

“How’s Rebecca?” Beckett asked, even though
he knew he shouldn’t.

“How should I know?” Rodrigo answered
through clenched teeth.

Beckett shuffled his foot from side to side
as they walked. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. It took an awful lot to
color his face red. “I just thought, since you’d been on leave for
so long, you might have gone to see her.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I...”

“Ted, there are lines that even you don’t
get to cross. You know that.”

“I know that,” he repeated.

“Then shut the fuck up.”

As she massaged her burned hand absently,
Rodrigo began to feel the guilt weigh down on her. Her career had
been one of turmoil, a struggle from its inception. Labeled as
stupid by almost every officer with which she crossed paths, she
had easily attained the rank of Sergeant knowing that she would
never be able to go any further. This realization had never
particularly bothered her but it was apparently rooted firmly in
the minds of others. And why not? It was a computer age, even for
soldiers. Her combat skill was almost worthless, at least as far as
leadership was concerned, and becoming more worthless every
day.

There was a time when it didn’t really
matter to her. Beckett had given her exactly what she had always
wanted. For all intents and purposes, she was an officer. She ran
the squad, making all of the decisions that Boone should have been
making. She had the captain’s ear while Boone barely had his
regard. But, as time wore on, it became hollow. What Beckett had
done for her now seemed more like pity than respect. During their
last few missions, he had been curt and she had begun to wonder if
she had worn out her welcome. As she thought back, she supposed the
resentment was inevitable. Anabelle Rodrigo had never had to rely
on anyone to take care of her. If any other captain had done this
for her, she’d have been angry. As she began to face that truth,
she realized that she needed to take matters into her own
hands.

So she’d sold her soul.

And now she was beginning to feel
guilty.

Off duty, Rodrigo sat alone in the cargo
bay, staring at the plain crate that held Jason Cummings. She felt
as if she were crying, but Anabelle Rodrigo’s tear ducts had dried
up long ago. There was just this heavy weight and oppressive
crushing of her almost dead heart. Jason had been such a good man.
Such a good man…

“Rodrigo?”

The sergeant closed her eyes, desperate not
to see, of all people, the lieutenant.

“How’s your shoulder?” Tedesco asked.

One wounded hand coming up to one wounded
shoulder, Rodrigo chose not to reply. From almost anyone, it could
have been a sincere inquiry. From Tedesco, it was questionable, a
veiled reference designed to weaken a subordinate.

“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering
to clip the annoyance in her tone.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about
your friend.”

“No you’re not. You knew about it. You’re
responsible. What I want to know is why?”

Lara Tedesco thought that was a fair
question. “Because Cummings was stuttering. He was going to give us
up to the captain.”

“He would never have done that.”

“He tried to stop you.”

Rodrigo suppressed a snarl. She knew
Cummings’ resolve had been faltering. He had been too good a man.
This kind of mercenary work hadn’t really sat well with him. But
that didn’t change the fact that Tedesco, for all of her bumbling
immaturity, had made a calculated decision. She’d needed Cummings
out of the way and had manipulated Rodrigo into being her assassin.
Forget about the fact that she had jeopardized the expedition by
doing it. What she had done was so disgustingly cruel that its
implications escaped even Rodrigo’s skewed sense of fair play.

The sergeant’s face turned into a grimace
and she spat a wad of phlegm onto the deck at the lieutenant’s
feet. “You’re a stupid child.” Then she marched past and started
for the door. She didn’t know where she was going to go, but she
would have just gone. She needed a break from this business.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t about to get it.
She heard the whine of Tedesco’s personal communicator and stopped
even before the lieutenant ordered it. The news would be from
MacDonald. The news wouldn’t be good.

“All right,” Tedesco said. “Gather everyone
into the hangar bay. We’ll have to move out on our own.”

“What is it?” Rodrigo said breathily,
knowing that the worst of it had yet to end.

“The captain’s gone off ship.”

“By himself?”

“No.” Tedesco was already out the door,
moving briskly down the narrow corridor. The hangar bay was seconds
from the cargo hold. “He took Burbank, Cabrera, and Bonamo.”

Bonamo
. That was the answer then.
Rodrigo hadn’t been able to understand why Beckett had questioned
her about her report, but now she knew. Bonamo had reported
something that contradicted her story. Somehow, he had known that
Cummings had fired first. Beckett had gone to investigate. If she
knew him, then she knew that he would be thorough. He wouldn’t just
find her damaged shoulder pad. He’d find the slug that damaged it.
He’d find the melted laser that had killed Cummings.

No, this was not good.

A short time later, William Boone was also
trying to find the captain. He was curious why Jennifer Massey was
close to completing her second straight shift with no one scheduled
to replace her as the third began. Dorian had been no help,
admonishing him for not having properly scheduled his department.
Though he found such reprimands irritating, he’d gotten used to
them. With all of the people in the universe that were aware of
Boone’s shortcomings, and eager to voice them, there was no way he
could be unaware of them as well. But he had devoted a good deal of
time toward furthering his skills. By the time he’d reported back
to the
Valor
for this assignment, he’d been confident that
he was a much better officer. The bout with Tunsley had almost
broken him. Almost. Boone wasn’t the brightest of the bunch, but he
wasn’t stupid either. Beckett’s paranoid accusations had come from
a dark place, but Boone knew better than to give them any weight.
Beckett wasn’t sore at him for trying to be a better officer. He
was sore at him for flaunting it and not knowing when to keep his
mouth shut.