Black Box (9 page)

Lawrence Rollins entered through the back
door, as they all should. Only William Boone would be coming from
the Control Room so only William Boone should enter by Beckett.
Rollins was a quiet man. He’d been in the Space Force for thirty
two years, ever since he was nineteen years old. According to his
record, during his second year of college, his parents had both
been killed in a traffic accident. The blow to his psyche had been
irreversible and his aunt, his only surviving relative, had pushed
him into the Space Force as a way of straightening him out. Leaving
school and academics behind, Rollins’ mind had reconstructed itself
to understand and apply only mathematical and problem solving
concepts. He had made computers do things of which their designers
could never even dream. And yet, he could not form personal
relationships, nor was he able to act on a feeling. Four years
before, he had inexplicably asked to be transferred to the
Valor
under the command of Ted Beckett. He’d phrased it just
like that in his request. “I would like to be transferred to the
UES
Valor
under the command of Ted Beckett.” The two had
never met prior, but Beckett was short a Computer Operations
Officer so there was no objection. In those four years, the two had
never had a conversation that did not revolve around professional
subject matter. Beckett knew as much about Rollins now as he had
then and that was just fine with him. Sometimes, pure competence
was just what he needed.

On Rollins’ heels came Samantha Cabrera, his
Medical Officer. On his last trip out, she had been his lieutenant,
and a damned good one at that no matter what other people thought.
When Paul Royce had gone on to the
Noble
, Cabrera had been
made a command officer. She was a little immature and not too
professional. In spite of, or perhaps because of their brief
encounter at the end of their last mission, Beckett would have been
very relieved to have seen her transferred off ship. But the
Admiralty
, he realized, had wanted to make room for Tedesco,
and moving Royce had been easier since the
Noble’s
MO had
died of cancer a couple of months prior.

The two sat apart, Rollins choosing the seat
on Beckett’s right. It was the seat furthest from the door and,
therefore, the most logical choice. If he had chosen any other
seat, others would have had to climb over him. Cabrera, on the
other hand, sat two seats away from Beckett, right next to the door
that led out to the Control hatchway.

The three sat in silence for sixty
seconds.

Next came the two new officers, Sam Ukpere
of Science and Humphrey Applegate of Records. Physically, the two
were polar opposites. Ukpere was tall, at least six foot seven, and
thin as a rail. His features were classically African and his skin
was so dark that his contrast with the pale Applegate was almost
blinding. Applegate, for his part, was a large and sweaty man. He
carried around a handkerchief that he repeatedly daubed against his
forehead, but into which he would never blow his nose. That would
be disgusting. The rumor was that he showered at least once between
each shift he was not working and anyone who knew him could attest
to the fact that the man always smelled of soap and aftershave.
Ukpere also wore large round glasses which made his eyes look
gigantic whereas Applegate’s eyes were small and nestled within
tiny folds of flesh. The two entered the room muttering to each
other under their breath. Ukpere’s expression was stern as he
listened to Applegate. When they took note of the other people in
the room, they instantly hushed and found seats.

Together, but clearly apart, the
Valor’s
Infantry Sergeant, Navigation Officer, and
Lieutenant arrived.

Fifteen years older than Beckett himself,
stronger, faster, and better than any soldier in the UESF, Anabelle
Rodrigo took the seat immediately to Beckett’s left.

“Hi, Ted,” she said to him and he smiled at
her.

It had taken him almost seven years to get
her transferred to his command once he’d become captain. On his
first assignment as a foot soldier, she had been his Sergeant and
he had learned what it meant to respect a superior in the Space
Force. There were things Rodrigo had taught him that he could have
learned from no one else. But she’d never learned the machines. She
was a soldier through and through and it had put a wall up in front
of her as far as advancement. Early in her career, the
Admiralty
, the
old Admiralty
, had recognized her
leadership qualities and tried every which way they could to get
her an officer’s commission. They’d offered her training at full
pay. They’d even offered her a teaching position so that recruits
could enter the service with some respectability. But she had
turned every opportunity down, content to be a sergeant, proudly
watching her soldiers advance ahead of her. She was like a mother
hen who could kick the crap out of any fox that got into the
coop.

Beckett’s executive officer was Allison
Dorian. Allison had started her career as a hotshot stunt pilot for
Miller Aerospace
. They hadn’t appreciated it when she’d
crashed one of their prototypes, proving it to be a faulty piece of
machinery. During a legal screaming match that had been turned into
a public fiasco, Dorian had lost her job and
Miller
had lost
a ton of its financial backing. No one came out of it smelling like
roses. A friend of hers in the
Admiralty
had offered to
accelerate her advancement if she signed on as a pilot in the UESF.
Historically opposed to the military and military opinion, she had
declined. But the real world had a way of creeping in on idealism.
Due to the fallout of the
Miller
fiasco, Dorian couldn’t
find work. As good a pilot as she was, she was trained to do
nothing else. The UESF turned out to be her only option. True to
his word, Admiral Price had pushed her through the ranks. Within
two years, Dorian had made first officer and been assigned to the
Valor
. Why the
Valor
? Because no one else wanted the
friend of an Admiral as a first officer.

Beckett hadn't wanted her either. It was a
situation that very much mirrored the one he faced now with Lara
Tedesco. But in the eighteen months in which he had worked with
Dorian, he had found her to be an exceptional pilot and a valuable
right hand. Her input was generally intuitive and he found, much to
his surprise (considering their opposing backgrounds), that they
agreed on most things.

Then there was Tedesco, who sat as far away
from him as she possibly could. She looked up at him with hatred
and then turned to her computer screen.

Jack Tunsley showed up right after that.
Though he was relatively new to the
Valor
, Beckett had
served with him just before his promotion to captain. Tunsley had
also subbed in on the
Valor
a couple of times throughout the
years. He was a short man with big hands and wiry fingers. It was
true, he could build anything. But five minutes of conversation
with him could make anyone run screaming for the hills.

The only one missing was William Boone, who
showed up a few minutes later huffing and puffing.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “I had to wait for
relief.” For William Boone, being an officer on the
Valor
was more difficult than any assignment he’d ever had. And his job
was harder than everyone else’s also. Beckett was not an easy
commander and his infantry background meant he knew Boone’s job
better than Boone.

“Who relieved you?” Rodrigo asked.

Boone looked up at the sergeant. She was
completely out of line. It was none of her business who relieved
him. She was just another reason his job was so hard. Though he
technically outranked her, she treated him like a subordinate. And
an incompetent one at that.

And yet he answered her anyway.
“Burbank.”

“Let’s get down to business,” Beckett
interjected. The last thing he needed now was to have to referee an
argument between Boone and Rodrigo.

Dorian cleared her throat so that she could
take the floor. “Captain, I was wondering why you’d ordered a
patrol course and called this meeting instead of resuming the
landing.”

It was the question on everyone’s mind,
which was of no surprise to Beckett. Looking at the faces of the
men and women around him, he knew there wasn’t one of them that
understood.

“You’re not thinking of scrapping the
mission, are you?” Tunsley asked.

Beckett took a breath. “I was, in fact,
considering it. I’ve got us in a holding pattern so that we can
discuss it. I’m hesitant to try another landing when we’ve just
been attacked.”

“Ghost attacks are random and
insignificant,” said Tedesco. “It could be argued,
sir
, that
we could have continued the landing procedure and avoided combat
altogether.”

Beckett kept his voice neutral. “As a
navigator, you should know that there is very little room for
flight variation during a landing procedure. That particular Ghost
ship could have hovered just outside of the atmosphere and focused
its heat ray on our ship, doing significant damage in a relatively
short amount of time.”

“But there was no way you could have known
they had a heat ray since the weapon types on Ghost ships vary
dramatically.”

“Which is precisely why I
couldn’t
chance a landing. Surviving a Ghost attack requires responding to
their unpredictability. While this particular ship proved to be no
match for us, we could just as easily have been locked into a very
deadly duel.”

The room went silent for a moment as
Tedesco, her face red, digested the rebuke. She realized that her
inexperience had shown in her impetuous comments. She understood
now that Beckett was stalking her, waiting for her to make a
mistake that could finish her.

When it was clear that she had nothing else
to say, he turned his attention back to the group.

Sam Ukpere took the floor. “Captain Beckett,
you can’t abort the mission over a Ghost attack. There’s no
precedent.”

Tunsley snorted. “Yeah, how could you have
that on your otherwise spotless record?”

“You’re out of line, Jack,” Beckett said
even though he realized that Tunsley was giving him his own
backhanded version of support.

“Sir, do you understand what we might be
giving up by leaving?”

“Mr. Applegate, my instincts tell me this
was no random attack.”

“All Ghost attacks are random,” Applegate
breathed. “I’ve survived four of them myself, two by the skin of my
teeth. By the way, sir, I was very impressed with the way you
handled it.”

Beckett refused to be cowed by the flattery.
“All Ghost attacks,
to date
, have been random.”

“And individual,” Ukpere said. “No one’s
ever seen more than one Ghost ship at any one time.”

“Which means what, Sam?” Beckett was always
amazed at the way Tunsley could get on a first name basis with
someone he’d just met. Someone who clearly didn’t like him.
“Lightning never strikes twice?”

“After more than a century of Ghost attacks,
I think it’s fair to rely on our information.”

“How many of those attacks have come without
final reports from the dead? How many of those attacks have come
without data? Don’t be a fool.”

Ukpere drew himself up in an expression of
pure dignity. “Mr. Tunsley, there’s no need to be insulting. The
success rate of Ghost attacks has been declining dramatically over
the last four decades. By switching to ballistic weapons, we’ve
taken a tremendous advantage. Or don’t you read the news?”

Tunsley harrumphed. “I
live
the news,
Sammy. When a species shows that kind of a technological range, you
take them seriously at every turn. Period. I say we know zilch
about them.”

Ukpere shook his head in admonishment.
“That’s a very narrow minded view.”

Tunsley gave him a raspberry.

“Over the line, Jack,” Beckett reminded him
again, although he himself knew that he was more tolerant of
Tunsley’s outbursts than any other captain would have been. The
truth was, he liked Jack Tunsley. Whether it was because of his
respect for the man’s ability or because, as John Poulle had said,
he liked a son of a bitch, it didn’t matter. Jack Tunsley fit very
well into the Beckett administration.

Ukpere, unruffled, turned his attention back
to the captain. “I’m just saying, sir, that there’s no precedent
for abandoning an assignment due to a Ghost attack. I agree that
the timing could be construed as either coincidental
or
suspicious, but I would lean toward coincidental. I applaud your
caution, but there has to be some rationale as well.”

It was a very cleverly disguised insult.
Beckett hated new officers.

“Ms. Dorian?”

His first officer took a deep breath.
“Although I don’t entirely agree with Mr. Ukpere’s assessment, I do
support his conclusion. There’s no good reason to abandon the
mission and you’re going to catch hell if you do.” That was her way
of throwing her support the other way but
without
the
insult.

Beckett scratched at his ear. She was right.
They were all right. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that
something was lurking just outside his field of vision. In the end
he ordered that they would patrol the area for twenty four hours,
at which time he would reevaluate the situation. If circumstances
warranted, as he expected they would, they would attempt another
landing. At that time, all of his officers would be required to be
on duty so they would have to shuffle their shift schedules.

“Right now, Ms. Tedesco, you go down and
relieve Mr. Winkler. That poor kid’s worked an hour past his shift
already without a complaint.”

She nodded curtly and the room began to
empty out, William Boone lingering.