Its All in the Details
#6 of The Odds Against
Alrighty, here we go, the next chapter of the Odds Against is ready. I know this one is kinda slow paced, but it sets up the next section of the plot very well, so I hope you will enjoy it anyway.
As always, comments are appreciated and requested.
EDIT: Noticed a couple mistakes on a re-read that needed correcting
Continued from 'Of Love and Treason...
10-7-3015
Time Index; 0736 hours GST
TFV Battleship Endeavor
Noid system, Contested space
A metallic clang echoed in the dropship's hold as it docked with the magnetic drop/retrieval ring, just outside the dropship hanger onboard the Endeavor. There was a brief, disconcerting shifting sensation in my stomach as the dropship's artificial gravity field matched that of the battleship, then, as my weight settled back into my body, the small ship was towed along the rail and into its berth inside the hanger. The moment the magnetic track disengaged from the roof, allowing the small ship to settle onto its landing platform, I slapped the release control for the drop harness with my palm and rose to my feet, walking to the drop door at the rear of the hold. The crew chief tapped the door controls and the cacophonous racket of an active drop bay reached my ears, a familiar and somewhat comforting sound. It was made of equal parts metallic clanging, riotous shouts of mechanics and pilots, and the whirring of machinery.
The drop bay had the capacity for more than eighty dropships, each capable of transporting a platoon of fully armed marines, but now less than half of the berths were filled, and most of the remaining dropships looked to have suffered damage of some type, and several were lying on the bottom floor of the bay in pieces, maintenance techs swarming all over them, some of them inside huge mechanical exoskeletons that made them look vaguely like big spiders. The battle group seemed to have been through hell while I was gone. While I made my way up the access ramp leading to the landing platform, heading towards the upper foyer of the bay, I briefly wondered about casualties. My thoughts were turned aside from that dark path a moment later by the voice of one of the bridge controllers echoing over the din of the bay.
"All returning personal report for decontamination, repeat, all returning personal report for decontamination." The female controller said. It was the same bridge controller that had been on duty when I had left and I marveled briefly on how strange it was that she would be on duty when I returned. I sighed to myself and headed off down to the lowest level of the bay, joining a short line of other pilots fresh from retrieval. There were both Marine and Naval pilots in the line and I recognized squadron insignia from multiple ships of the fleet, and a few from squadrons not in my fighter group. As was usual with recovery efforts, pilots were retrieved by whatever ship had dropships in the area. The extra pilots were likely from a whole other battle group that had arrived in system to relieve my own. Regardless of what group we were from, all pilots that had been shot down were required to be decontaminated before rejoining the ship's population. It was a long, often bothersome process, but necessary. It would have been a very bad thing if some kind of alien pathogen got loose on a combat vessel. The process was also a guard against brainwashing, as such processes that could be done swiftly left signs within the body.
Once on the bottom level, we headed through a blast door and into the first of the decontamination rooms. With much trepidation, I dropped my survival kit and web gear into a receptacle in the wall. It would be disinfected by an automatic mechanism before I recovered it at the other end, which was a good thing since the machines wouldn't notice that I was carrying a non-standard data storage device in my kit. All the automated machinery would do was clean it, making sure that no contaminants were present, then let me recover it on the other end. My weapons and their remaining ammunition went into a rack on the wall for a similar procedure. Sighing inwardly, I hurried into the other room ahead of the rest of the pilots. Normally, I didn't hurry when doing this, but now I had good reason to minimize the chances of the other pilots seeing me. In the next room, I disrobed completely, setting my armor onto a stand and tossing my clothes into a bin. Clad only in my dog tags and Katy's Archen necklace, I hurried into the next room, ahead of the rest of the pilots. The next room was a shower facility, and not vapor showers either. They sprayed a mixture of water and a variety of disinfectants and cleansing agents, which would wash any contaminants off the body and into storage tanks where they would be dealt with easily later, usually by incineration. I wanted to get into the shower as quickly as I could so that none of the other pilots would notice the stray hairs from Katy's fur that still covered me. Exactly why my whole body had Merxian fur clinging to it would be just a tad hard to explain.
I headed to the far end of the chamber and climbed into a stall ahead of the other pilots. Soon, Katy's orange fur was flowing down the drain with the dust and grime that had collected on my flesh. I spent a longer time in the shower than the others because I wanted to make doubly sure that I got all of the fur off, washing myself several times and scrubbing my dog tags and the necklace. I knew that when I was finished with my shower, I would be subjected to a complete physical and then placed in an isolation room for at least a day while my body was monitored. It promised to be a long, boring day, unless of course, I missed some of the fur. Smiling to myself, I reached for the soap once more, imagining the conversation that would lead to...
***
10-7-3015
Time Index; 1515 hours GST
TFV Battleship Endeavor
Enroute to TFAF General Headquarters, Terran space
Admiral Tack strode through the door to the observation hallway overlooking the Endeavor's isolation rooms. The old admiral rubbed his eyes tiredly, for he had now been up for more than fifty hours. He had spent most of the last day on the battleship's flag bridge, reviewing data on the battle over Arc. The old officer was tired enough to sleep for about a week, but something about the battle had been bothering him since it started. Like many other campaigns that came down from the General Headquarters, the battle had swiftly devolved into a draw. Neither side seemed to be able to gain an advantage over the other for long. Just when the Terran ships managed to gain control over the space around Arc, the Merxians would hit the fleet in the one weak point in their formation. And just when the Merxians landed reinforcements for their ground troops, a new piece of intel would allow the Terrans to seize control. And on and on and on for more than a month. And it was still going on. The thing that bothered the aging Admiral most was that this infuriating pattern of battle had repeated itself ever more often in this war.
Just when he had gotten tired of staring at the after-battle data, the battle group had come out of hyperspace into a friendly system when a secured hypercom message came through, ordering the Endeavor to report to headquarters as soon as possible. Now the battleship was traveling alone through hyperspace at maximum speed. He should really have been in his quarters sleeping right now, but he had been there all of five minutes before he had gotten a call from the battle group's chief medical officer. The CMO was a woman, a full navel captain and an old friend of his. She still looked fairly young, though her auburn hair was graying, and wrinkles were starting to appear around her eyes.
"Doctor Taggart, I hope you have a good reason to call me down here." He commented, approaching with a slow pace.
"Besides annoying an irascible old man?" She asked, smiling at him. He couldn't help smiling back at her, the comment being an old joke between them. Long ago, when they had first met, he had been only a captain and he had told her rather harshly that he didn't need an examination when an outbreak of a rare flu occurred on the ship he had been commanding. She had had to finally threaten to declare him unfit for duty if he didn't submit to examination. They had become good friends in the years since then, and he trusted her judgment. "I called you down here because I found something odd when I examined Colonel Cramer."
"Odd? What do you mean odd?" He asked, looking down into the room below them where the young marine colonel lay on a cot with his hands behind his head, dressed in a disposable white medical gown. He was fast asleep, and Tack thought he looked fairly normal, if a little more scruffy than usual. His skin was now bronzed, which was to be expected from his surviving on a planet for a month, but other than that, he looked the same.
"Well, take a look at this med scan." She said, showing him a hand held holographic display. He looked at the data curiously for a moment and then spoke.
"What am I looking for?" He asked, scanning the unfamiliar data for anything he recognized.
"Look at this." The doctor said and the screen split, showing two different sets of data. "The data on the right is the data from the Colonel's last physical. On the left is his current data."
"What the...?" Tack exclaimed, for the data on the left was very different from the data on the right, but not in the way that one would expect. In fact, it was opposite what he expected to see in a recently recovered pilot's scan.
"As you know Admiral, downed pilots have to survive on emergency rations and on whatever food they can find with their survival training." The doctor explained, "In almost every case where a downed pilot has survived as long as he did, we have seen a massive strain on the body. If anything, Colonel Cramer is healthier than when he left. Increased metabolism, increased brain activity, decreased radical count. Even his toxin screening is lower than before. I just don't understand how this is possible."
"He was always good at surviving," Tack commented, looking back down on the young colonel in the room below. Then Tack noticed that something had changed, something that was almost imperceptible. It was only because he knew the young officer well that he was able to see it. He looked well-rested, unstressed, as if he had just come back from a month of leave, not from a life or death survival situation. That was a little odd, since the colonel had said he wasn't sleeping well before the battle began. "Maybe he was good enough to keep himself that healthy."
"I accounted for that, and it is possible," The doctor stated. "But, in conjunction with two other anomalies that I found, I think that is unlikely. What I really called you down here for is this." She tapped the control on a nearby console and a set of holographic chromosomes appeared above the console's projector. "This is a map of recent genetic activity within his cells. Now, see these sequences here?" She asked, making several sections of DNA grow larger in the viewer. "These sections were inactive during his last physical, but now they are showing a massive increase in activity, four or five times that of normal active sequences."
"Do you know what caused it?" Tack asked, stroking his chin with his fingers, pondering this strange phenomenon.
"No." She said. "I have never seen this kind of thing before, not in all my years of medicine."
"Well, what do these genes code for?" He asked, "I haven't exactly studied molecular genetics, you know."
"That's just it," The doctor replied, gazing contemplatively at the holographic display. "We have mapped every gene that is active in any stage of human development, but these sections don't code for any protein normally used by human cells. They look like some sort of mutation, though I have never heard of this many mutations occurring all at once. Its almost as if..."
"As if what?" The admiral asked when she didn't elaborate, already fearing the answer.
"It's almost as if they were deliberate, like someone was tinkering with his genetic code." Taggart replied, seeming to be reluctant to answer the question.
"Could he have been compromised when he was down on the planet, like some sort of genetic brainwashing?" Tack asked.
"I doubt it. His genetic code is identical to what it was when he joined the military. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if it was identical to what it was when he enrolled at the Silvermoon Academy." The doctor paused for a moment, then shook her head once more. "Nothing has been added or altered that I can find. Only the level of activity has changed." The doctor explained.
"Hmmm." Tack hummed, his eyes narrowing with thought. "Wait, you said two anomalies."
"Yes sir." Taggart replied, "The second is that his blood chemistry assay is showing the presence of several compounds not normally found in human blood, and not produced by these genes. However, again, none of them seem to have anything to do with brain function, not even as precursors. I honestly have no idea what is going on with him, and that alone worries me."
"Is he fit to return to duty?" The admiral asked and the doctor took a moment before answering.
"Assuming any problems don't show up in the next few hours, yes sir." She replied.
"Well, keep working on it and keep me posted." Tack ordered, turning to leave. "Keep an eye on him when he returns to duty, and whatever you do, don't tell him what you have found."
"Aye sir." The doctor said, turning back to the holographic DNA display...
***
10-8-3015
Time Index; 0600 hours GST
MAS Battlecruiser Stilian
Ardian system, Merxian space
The doors to the Admiral's office opened with a quiet whoosh before Katy and she stepped inside, her boots clunking on the metallic deck. She was dressed in a fresh flight suit, a black beret with her squadron's insignia on it settled on her head, between her ears. She had taken great care when dressing, making sure there was no sign on her of her sojourn on the moon. The only thing that she had been unable to conceal was her scent, which she knew would have changed when she mated with her Terran love. Her body was now giving off a different scent than it had been when she left the planet. It was sort of a defense mechanism, warning off potential mates that she was already taken. The change in scent would be hard to explain, since no other Merxian pilots had been shot down on the moon. The only thing she could do was shower away the scent every morning, and stay away from close contact with anyone who knew her well enough to know the difference. Unfortunately, the admiral was one of the few who did. The gold, four pointed star of her rank reflected an odd glimmer of gold on the wall from where it rested in the center of the beret's insignia, reflecting the light of the holographic display Admiral Antius was gazing at. It must have been standard communications, because the door would not have opened if it had been classified above her security clearance.
Admiral Antius was a tiger, his black striped red fur starting to fade with age. He was a very experienced commander, someone she had known for a long time. He had always treated her more like a granddaughter then a subordinate officer. The Admiral looked up when he heard the door open, a smile breaking across his face.
"Colonel, come in." He said, waving for her to enter. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, sir. Getting some time away from it all helped I think." She replied. The admiral had expressed his concern several times in the weeks before the battle as he had watched her grow more and more depressed. He looked her over as she approached and his smile widened, for she did indeed look much better. Katy had to work to keep herself from smiling as she thought about the real reason she felt better. "You wanted to see me sir?"
"Yes, I did." The admiral said, bringing up a new file on his computer. "The Marines seem to be quite intent on getting you to accept promotion." Katy smiled and shook her head. In the last six months, Antius had received at least a half dozen requests from High Command, asking him to place her in a staff position like other officers who had been in the field as long as she had had taken. She had turned them all down, preferring instead to stay in command of her fighter group.
"What do they want me to command now?" She asked.
"Actually, they seem to really want you this time." he said. "They want me to place you as the head of the fighter command of my entire fleet. Should I go ahead and send a negative reply again?"
"Hmmm," Katy said, thinking deeply. This was still technically a field command, though she wouldn't get to fly into combat very often. The bottom line was that she was a combat pilot, she always had been. And yet, the reason why she kept refusing transfer, as much as she tried to deny it to herself, was that so she would have the greatest chances of being killed. But that reason didn't exist anymore. She wanted to live, for she had a mate now, and they had a purpose. Plus, being in command of entire fleet's fighters would allow her greater latitude to execute their plan. She smiled at last and shook her head once more. "No sir. Please let them know that I will take the position."
"Really?" Antius asked, looking surprised. "What made you accept this one after denying all the others?"
"Oh, I just have gotten tired of this job." She replied, quickly coming up with a reason that would sound innocent. "Too much stress. I think a staff position like that would be just what I need Admiral."
"Well, alright then, consider yourself reassigned." He answered, giving her a sidelong glance. "As soon as the official orders are logged, you will take over for General Tiernan."
"What happened to him sir, if I might ask?" Katy questioned, trying to steer the discussion in another direction. General Tiernan had been her direct superior for a long time, and the only way she would take over for him would be if he was promoted, or alternatively, killed.
"The Yunius took some severe damage in an ambush while we were engaged around Arc." He explained, quickly writing a reply to the orders. "Tiernan was severely wounded, too badly hurt to continue his duties. He has retired. Anyway, I believe you have some work to do before you take over for him. Good day Colonel."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir." She said, saluting him. He returned the salute crisply and looked back at his work. Katy turned to go, but the Admiral spoke up once again.
"And Colonel," Katy froze, turning back, worried that she had betrayed some sign to the old admiral of what had transpired on the moon with Devin. The admiral was smiling once more, but the smile was not a predatory grin of someone who knows a secret. "Welcome back."
"Thank you, sir." She said again, returning the smile. Then she turned and left, heading for her own office, for she did indeed have a lot of paperwork to catch up on...
***
10-8-3015
Time Index; 1016 hours GST
TFV Battleship Endeavor
Enroute to TFAF General Headquarters, Terran space
I walked with a measured pace through the corridors of the battleship, forcing my face to remain passive, despite my busy thoughts. Since I had returned to duty earlier this morning, my already problem filled mind had been packed nearly to bursting with new problems. The problems were actually old ones, the problems of keeping a fighter group operational. In an ideal fighter group, which did not exist in war time, each squadron and each wing had their own commanders, who were responsible for keeping their own units operational, monitoring maintenance and supply concerns. Each wing commander also had an adjutant who took care of many of the staff duties, keeping the commanders from being overworked. Each group commander was supposed to have their own staff of four officers as well, again, the purpose being to keep them from being overworked.
But, even though there were always more volunteers for the fighter corps, the fighter commands of both the Navy and the Marines were facing major manpower shortages. It took time to train new pilots, time to train staff officers and there was never enough supply of trained personnel to keep up with the demand. So, many officers had taken on more than one job to make up the difference. Before the campaign over Arc, my fighter group had had barely enough trained officers to perform all the duties needed, but every wing commander had also taken on a squadron command, and the adjutant duties of the wings had been split among the various squadron commanders. I had already been overworked at the time because in addition to the hassles of commanding a fighter group and my personal interceptor squadron, I had also taken on direct command of a fighter wing. I was the only one in the group who had had an actual staff, but it had been only one officer instead of the usual four, and he happened to also be my wingman.
Now, after a long campaign, the workload was enormous. And now, since casualties had taken their toll, there were even fewer people to do the work that was needed. New munitions had to be ordered, replacement fighters and parts had to be requisitioned. And, I also had to compile a list of casualties for command, which was probably the most distasteful of all my duties. And, on top of that work, I also had to go through the after action reports from each of the squadron commanders, approve promotions to fill in vacant command positions where possible, and failing that, locate new replacement pilots, a long and arduous task at the best of times. The only bright spot in the whole ordeal was that while the battle group had less than ten percent of its fighters operational, casualties had been comparatively light after the first engagement, only averaging about forty percent across the group. Still, all the details were piling up.
Thankfully, the reports were still coming in, my computer sorting them by subject. I couldn't begin to draw up my own reports for command until I had them all anyway, which meant I had an hour or so to take of a few personal things. I stopped at a corridor junction to allow an engineering crew to pass, no doubt on their way to fix another battle damaged system. That was another thing that was a little odd. The battle group's capital ships had taken less damage than was usual, and none had been destroyed, though a few escort ships had been badly enough damaged to be forced to withdraw from the battle zone early.
Continuing my walk, I continued drawing up a list of things I needed to do, a list that was already nearly fifty items long. Aside from my usual duties, I really wanted to get started on the Conclave problem. Katy and I had agreed that the first two things we needed were more information and resources to fight the Conclave. Until things calmed down, I didn't have the time to track down the communication logs that would allow me to identify Conclave members. But, towards the second of those points, I had a list of old friends that I needed to track down who would be able to help me. Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I stopped my walk outside the door to the Admiral's office. This was actually the first stop on that list. Admiral Tack had quite a few contacts all over the military, and if I phrased my inquiry just right, I might be able to get him to help me find information classified above my security clearance. Even though I had been a part of black ops, and therefore had a very high security clearance, it wasn't so high that I could access any information I wanted. Reaching out, I knocked on the door with my bare knuckle, having left my armor back in my quarters. Since we were now deep in Terran controlled space, near to the second most secure star system in existence, there was little chance of being called on to fight. The door slid open before me and I walked inside to find the Admiral seated behind his desk, the holographic projector set into his desk displaying what looked like a letter. I snapped a salute and held it until the Admiral looked up.
"What is it Colonel?" He asked, returning my salute.
"I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time sir." I said, and he waved me to a seat before his desk.
"Certainly, I was just reading a letter from my grandson." He said, deactivating the projector. "He just started his last year at Silvermoon."
"I didn't know you had a grandson sir." I commented, leaning back in the surprisingly comfortable chair. Tack rarely shared his personal business with anyone, so I wanted to take a moment and ask him about it. What's more, my psychic powers were telling me that he was troubled, a sure sign that trouble was brewing.
"I think you'd like him Colonel." He said, nodding. "He is a lot like you. We all expected him to join the naval academy, but he applied to Silvermoon instead. I haven't seen him since he was ten years old." The admiral's eyes were distant, as if he was looking back in the past. I could sense that this was what he wanted to talk about, so I stayed silent for the moment. "You know Colonel, I have been fighting wars all my life, but never one that has lasted this long. My own son was only just finishing up his first tour when it started. He just received his first command as a captain last month. I really wish this war would end. I don't want my grandson to be caught up in it as well."
"Me too sir." I said, realizing that I might actually be able to include the old Admiral in my plan to take down the Conclave. I was about to ask him about the information I wanted when the com system set into his desk chimed. He sat up straight in his chair and sighed, pushing the activation button.
"Yes?" He said and the voice of the Endeavor's watch officer came over the speaker.
"Admiral, we are about to arrive at headquarters." He said and Tack rose to his feet.
"Acknowledged, I am on my way." He said. "You might as well come with me Colonel."
"Yes sir." I replied, rising to my feet and following the admiral out of the room. It was a short walk to the bridge and when we walked in, the watch officer hoped out of the command chair, allowing the admiral to sit down. The view screen was totally black, since there was absolutely nothing to see in hyperspace, but less than a minute later, the view screen was filled with a multitude of stars as the ship dropped out of hyperspace. The woman seated at the helm quickly typed in a course for the regular drive engines and the view swirled around, bringing a light blue and green orb into view. The planet had a temperate climate, and a near zero axial tilt, meaning it had practically no seasons. It would have been a paradise, except for one thing. The world itself was encircled by ten docking rings, and surrounded by a double-layered grid of defense stations outside of that. When the planet had been colonized nearly six hundred years ago, it had been given a name, but what that name was had long ago been forgotten. Now, it was a nameless world, protected by hundreds of heavily armed battle stations, its location known only to flag officers. And with good reason. It was the location of the high command of the Terran Federation Armed Forces.
"Admiral, we are being hailed." The comms officer called from his station. "Message is flagged as priority one."
"Put it through." Tack said. The view screen suddenly became that of the head and shoulders of a naval officer wearing the three stripe rank of a commander.
"TFV Endeavor, you are cleared for immediate docking at ring Alpha, berth 167." The Commander said, and the comm. board lit up with an incoming file. "Additional orders are on their way to you now." With that, the screen blinked off. The officer at the helm began plotting a course to the proper berth without any order needing to be given. A holo-screen attached to the admiral's chair lit up and Tack scanned the screen for a few moments before speaking, his words quiet.
"Colonel, there is a message here for you." He said and I looked at him in surprise. My mind had started to drift because I never had had much interest in the ins and outs of commanding a capital ship. I was surprised to find that message had come in addressed to me personally, since usually orders and messages for a battle group's fighter commander were routed through the battle group's commanding officer. He tilted the screen towards me and allowed me to read it. It was an order direct from the Commandant of the Marine Corps, ordering me to report to him immediately after the ship docked. It seemed that my reports could wait until later...
***
10-8-3015
Time Index; 1150 hours GST
Office of the Commandant, TFMC Headquarters
*Location Classified, required clearance; Beta*, Terran space
I sat in the waiting area outside of the Commandant's office, dressed in my full dress uniform once more. The Royal blue cloth was finely pressed and smelled vaguely like the vacuum-sealed chamber I had left it in since the last time I taken it out. All senior officers had quarters on the headquarters planet, but with an interstellar war going on, most didn't see them very often. Some were even promoted to senior officer rank, and then killed without ever seeing their new quarters. I hadn't been on planet for nearly a year now, and I had left my quarters hermetically sealed and all my clothing and mementos in vacuum storage, not knowing in truth if I would ever see them again. Quite frankly, I found the crisply pressed cotton of my dress uniform confining and cramped. I much preferred the more comfortably fitting flight suits I usually wore. And, over a long military career, most of which was spent in combat, I had accumulated plenty of medals and ribbons weighed down my left side and generally hampering movement. Reaching up, I ran a finger under my collar, taking pressure off my larynx. I also hated my dress uniform for one very good reason. I absolutely hated neck ties.
I ignored the stares of several passing staff officers, trying not to show any discomfort. I got that a lot since my face was well known throughout Terran space, after all, I had survived so long in the most dangerous duty that existed in the military that some young officers had started saying that I was untouchable. Also, anyone who didn't recognize me would still stare. The sheer number and variety of medals and qualification badges that covered the left side of my uniform ensured that, though I hadn't cared about such things since becoming an officer. I was just about to start fidgeting again when the marine master sergeant sitting behind the nearby desk spoke up.
"Colonel, the Commandant is ready for you now." He said and I nodded, rising to my feet. Setting my uniform cap onto my head, I walked into the commandant's office, snapping a salute to the man seated behind the desk. He wore five silver stars on his uniform, but I had known him when he had had my rank. Way back in my career, when I had first joined the Starwolves, the current Commandant had been the battalion commander. He had left after about two months, but he had kept tabs on me throughout my career, for two very good reasons. He too was originally from Arc, not to mention that he was a fellow psychic, a class 2. When the general looked up and saw me, he got to his feet and returned the salute eagerly, a wide grin breaking on his face. When we dropped our salutes, he offered me his hand. I returned his smile and shook his hand eagerly.
"Devin, its good to see you!!" He cried, waving me to a chair. "How are you doing?"
"Better than ever sir." I replied, sitting down. "How are things going overall?"
"Same as always." He replied, sitting back down behind his desk. But, as he said this, my psychic instincts let loose a thin trickle of tingling current within my mind, cluing me in to the fact that he didn't mean that. Something was bothering the older officer. This instinct was confirmed a moment later when the Commandant tapped a control mounted on his desk, activating the security seal around his office. "Actually, not so well."
"What has happened sir?" I asked, not wanting to guess what matter could be so serious that he only wanted to discuss it in private.
"General Davenport has been arrested for treason." He explained without preamble. I raised my eyebrows, surprised. Major General Charlie Davenport had been the commander of the Marine's fighter command for about four years now. It surprised me that someone so highly placed had been charged with treason. "He was caught selling classified information to a civilian firm on Celdania. I want you to replace him." That particular bombshell was even more surprising than the first one.
"Me, sir? Surely there are better candidates for that post." I protested, startled. The post of commander of the fighter corps was a minimum of two ranks above my current pay grade. It had always gone to the most senior of the Fleet fighter commanders, not a fairly new Group commander. It was an unprecedented promotion.
"Oh there are, but none that I know I can trust." He said. I cocked my head to the side in confusion and he continued quietly, looking tired and stressed. "I had one of my aides track Davenport's recent activities and some of the information he sold is way outside of his access level. And, judging from his communications logs, it looks like he has been selling secrets for years. Somehow, I get the feeling that this is big. This goes much deeper than just one General selling secrets. I don't know who his contacts were, but judging from the level of classification some of the information he had, there are some very highly placed individuals in on it. The fact that he went undetected for so long also means that he has contacts within the Military Justice department, and the MPs; and that means that I can't trust them with the investigation. Now, from our history together, I know that I can trust you Colonel, plus there is the fact that you weren't highly enough placed to be of use to them. What I want you to do is figure out how far this conspiracy goes. Your new position will be the perfect cover. As the head of the Marine Corps' fighter command, it won't look strange for you to travel all over the Federation, or to access any information you need. If you are willing to do this, I will give you the highest security clearance I can to get the job done. Will you do it Colonel?"
I sat for a few moments, working it over in my head. This was far better than I could have hoped for. It was a golden opportunity to go about investigating the Conclave's operations without getting bogged down in the responsibilities of being a group commander. Of course, because this was so strange a promotion, I would no doubt be under a lot of scrutiny, as would the Commandant. But, even with that possibility, this was too good a chance to pass up. Smiling, I nodded to the Commandant.
"I would be happy to sir." I finally said and he smiled, reaching into his desk and coming out with a small mahogany box.
"I thought that might be the case." He said, sliding the box over to me across the surface of the desk and I opened it slowly. Inside, on a bed of soft blue velvet, were the single silver stars of a Brigadier General.
"Consider that official." He said, rising to his feet. "Until the official orders can be logged, consider yourself immediately brevetted to Major General. Congratulations, General Cramer."
"Thank you sir." I replied, shaking hands with the old officer once more.
"Now, I have other work to do." He said, waving with his hand. "We will talk again later Devin."
I saluted before leaving the office. Until the official orders were logged moving me to my new post, I would have to continue my work as a group commander. Picking up the pace a little, I headed for the shuttle going to my quarters. Even trying to scale the mountain of paperwork that awaited me back aboard the Endeavor sounded preferable to wearing my dress uniform a moment longer...