Chapter 14 #2
“Already on it,” Caelinus says, swiping through a screen attached to the wall and then flipping a switch. The lights flicker back on, slowly illuminating the room, the dead bodies on the floor.
Task drops to his knees and removes the hood of the one closest to him, the one that had the broadsword. His face is still, lifeless, aquamarine eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Who are you?” he murmurs.
“Canmore, quit conversing with dead. You need a healer,” Caelinus’ voice cuts through the room as he gestures towards Task’s dripping hand.
Task ignores him. “We need to figure out who they are and why they attacked us.”
“It was a setup,” Caelinus says, wandering around the room, blood pooling on the floor behind him from a gash on his left calf. He appears oblivious to it, impervious to the pain. “Whoever they were, they cut off the electricity. They wanted us down here.”
“That one’s a Guardian,” Task says, gesturing to the corpse farthest from them. “Look there.” He gestures to the tattoo under the man’s ear, three interlocking triangles.
“Fuck,” Caelinus breathes. “That makes no sense.”
Task is silent. It makes sense in a world where there are disloyal Guardians in the Force. A thing he’d never contemplated before, trusted the Pledge they all took upon joining. Apparently he’d been wrong.
“A defector,” Task says, his words biting. How could anyone in the Force go against Draven? It was one of the highest honors to join the Force, to serve Draven and Nexarium in that way.
“A defector,” Caelinus repeats, rolling the term around on his tongue. “Odd.”
Task surveys the scene before him, eyes finding the silver broadsword again. “What is that sword?”
“I don’t know,” Caelinus replies. “I’ve never encountered a weapon like that before.”
“How did these people get outlawed weapons on the ship? Weapons that can cut our defenses in a second,” Task asks, mostly to himself.
He pushes himself to his feet, the pain in his hand coupled with the pain in his chest suddenly unbearable.
He needs to go weave, and then to the medical bay to get his hand stitched.
“We’ll need to report it to the governor,” Caelinus says, limping towards the door.
“We will,” Task says. “We will.” Before that, though, he wants to investigate himself.
The Xarian archives are secured, physically inaccessible to him here on the Polaris, but he wonders if he can send Atari.
If Atari can confirm that the weapon that Task saw was indeed a broadsword, Task can bring Draven valuable intelligence.
Perhaps something that can be helpful to stopping the uprising on Nexarium, or at least better understanding the scope of it.
He’s beginning to think it’s much larger than they understood.
It’s late in the evening when Task returns to his quarters after getting his hand patched up by Nevis in the infirmary.
Voss had accompanied him, demanding answers that, for the most part, Task didn’t have.
No, he didn’t know the reason for the attack, no, he didn’t know the attackers, and no, he had no idea how they’d gotten illicit weapons on board the ship.
Yes, he’d asked the two Guardians who’d gathered the corpses and cast them out into space to identify them in the Polaris’ citizen tracking system.
Yes, he’d tell Voss immediately when he heard.
He sighs, slumping against the door and taking in the small room, cast in a blue glow from the moon they’re traveling past. Stars wink in the distance, and he suddenly feels exhausted.
He lays on the bed, sinking into the mattress, letting the ship’s artificial gravity pull on his limbs as he stares at the ceiling.
He wants to sleep, to fall into that blissful state of obliviousness, but he can’t turn off his mind.
He shifts uneasily, facing the desk in front of the large window, glancing at the photo he’s tacked over it. Just one — he, Voss, and Caelinus, laughing. In it, he looks carefree, happy. So far from who he is now.
Something catches his eye on the desk below. A Prism, glowing softly in the dimness of his quarters. It’s not his, can’t be. He left his in the conference room earlier in his haste to follow Caelinus to the engineering room.
He crosses to it, picking it up. His wounded hand throbs in time to his thudding heart. Anxiety courses through him, even though he can’t put his finger on why.
The Prism is unlocked, which is unusual, and he scans the content displayed on the screen.
It appears to be a debriefing file labeled Project C.
Normally, his missions are given code names of some sort: Grenadium, Hellfire, Lightmist, while the assassinations are designated with Project titles.
He doesn’t remember executing on a Project C.
He scrolls down the page, trying to refresh his memory.
Draven’s enemies have piled up over the years — the rebels, the criminals, those that have dared to abstain from the power tithe.
The executions have blurred together for Task, shrouded in a mist of agony and darkness.
He barely sees their faces anymore; they’re just another number to him.
He supposes it’s possible that he’s forgotten one of the many from the last seven years.
That still doesn’t answer the question of why this file is sitting open on an unknown Prism on his desk.
He clicks into it, finding the mission order, several situation reports, command and signal plans, and two briefing documents.
There is no debrief, which Task finds strange.
He is normally prompt about uploading debriefing documents, though per Draven’s orders, he keeps them vague.
Some things are better left undocumented.
TOP SECRET
Situation
Area of operations
Target is located at -9.28471, 68.78898 First Quarter
He scans further down, looking for the mission details. He finds them, though nothing about the code language rings any bells for him, even though the Wing that in theory executed on this mission was his own.
Phantom Wing to eliminate HVT-43 (Cheetah) and HVT-44 (Wolf) at Desert Moon to disrupt Dragonfly Network capabilities in Gnari Station.
He continues reading through the details, coming to the end of the mission order. The name of whoever gave the order has been redacted. His eyes move to the issue date of the mission, and he sharply inhales.
4027, the year his parents were killed. Four years after he was born. Seeing that year always causes his breath to catch in his throat, his heart to stutter a bit. The year his entire life changed.
Startled, Task drops the Prism, and it clatters to the desk, shorting out from the impact.
He braces his hands in front of him, his entire body trembling.
He feels as though he’s been violated in some way, had information revealed to him that he didn’t ask for, didn’t want, and now he’s left here trying to make sense of it.
Trying to make sense of the whole night, really.
Questions race through his mind. Who were the attackers in the engineering room? Why had they attacked them? Who had access to his room to put this Prism here? Why the hell was this file left open for him on his desk?
And what was Project C?
The next morning, Task wakes early, dressing quickly and heading to the bridge, where he’s supposed to meet the other Force members for a debrief.
He stops at the mess on the way, filling his tin canister with Vermaxian coffee before continuing to the conference room situated across from the bridge.
Despite the exhaustion he felt deep in his bones, he’d stayed awake late into the night, turning things over.
He’d woken up to eyes that felt like sandpaper, desperately needing a shot of caffeine.
He’d intended to be early, but of course, Alexander has somehow managed to beat him. Why Alexander is here is beyond him. He’s not a Force member, despite being a Siphon, and occupies no formal role aboard the ship, aside from being a constant thorn in Task’s side.
Alexander raises his brows as Tasks walks past him, though Task ignores him. If he opens his mouth, he’ll say something he regrets. He drops into a chair, setting his surge-saber beside him and flicking through his Chronogram, checking the latest communications from his second back on Nexarium.
Thankfully, Voss strides in a moment later, Caelinus trailing him. They settle in at the table, Voss casting a glance at Task, then at Alexander. “Glad to see nobody was stabbed with a lumi-dagger this morning.”
“We aren’t children,” Task replies, although Caden often manages to bring out a side of him he’s less than proud of. He wants to ask why Caden is here, but stops himself. Voss is his friend, but in this setting, he’s also his commanding officer. Voss has his reasons, he supposes.
Voss pulls up a series of files on his Prism, scrolling through them, then fixing his eyes on Caelinus. “Let’s walk through what happened yesterday evening.”
Caelinus recounts what happened — the electrical system malfunctioning, his intention to investigate it, the four attackers lying in wait in the engineering room.
Task jumps in, describing how he and Caelinus subdued them.
He leaves out any mention of the strange file left open on the Prism in his room, not wanting to share the bizarre information in front of Caden.
When he’s finished, Alexander immediately asks, judgment dripping from his tone, “You couldn’t have kept one alive for questioning?”
“I was focused on neutralizing the threat,” Task retorts, defensive. He feels like an idiot. He should have been thinking, but got caught up in the bloodlust.
“And you’re supposed to be the Governor’s Hand,” Alexander scoffs.
Task knows that Alexander is trying to get a rise out of him, but it doesn’t stop the anger from rising, settling behind his ribcage. He fists his hands tightly in his lap.
“Don’t speak to me that way.” Task’s voice is quiet, a deadly edge as the words sail across the table.
“I’m not scared of you,” Alexander says. “I’ll speak to you however I damn well please.”
Task lunges across the table, but he’s yanked back by Voss, a searing pain in his forearm where his friend grips him. “Major Canmore.”
Task looks back at him, snarling, “He’s insulted me.”
“And I will deal with him later,” Voss says calmly, trying to deescalate the situation. “We have bigger problems to address right now.”
Task slumps into his seat, ashamed. He shouldn’t have risen to Alexander’s bait, but there is something about the man that rankles him. Caden sits with his arms crossed, a self-satisfied sneer on his face.
Voss looks down at the Prism in front of him, tapping on its face twice.
He casts two photos of the assailants into the air, both Guardians from the Calypso Wing of the Force.
Neither were under Task’s command; he’d never seen them before, but then, the Force was huge. “Nero Briggus and Jorda Asco.”
“It was clearly a setup,” Caelinus says. “They’d ensured the power went off so we’d go down there to check, and they could corner us.”
“But who was their target?” Voss asks.
“Likely Caelinus,” Task answers. “He’s our chief engineer. If they were messing around with the ship’s functions and were huddling in the engineering room, they had to know that it would be Caelinus who would come check.”
“I could have sent one of my men,” Caelinus says. “There is no way they could have guaranteed I would have gone there.”
“It was risky,” Voss agrees.
“Not for men with nothing to lose,” Task says, thinking of the rebels on Nexarium, the things they’d tried. They’d launched so many attacks with little chance of success, but just the promise of disrupting the governor’s rule was enough.
“You think they’re with the Revs?” Alexander cuts in.
“I don’t see another explanation that makes sense,” Task says. “Why else would Guardians have targeted us? All of us are a part of the Force, except you, Caden. We’re a brotherhood. Attacking one of your own is cause for being brought in front of the tribunal.”
“Maybe they were displeased with Voss’ command,” Caelinus tries.
Voss cuts him a look, as if to say, really? “Guardians are not petty.”
“We wouldn’t be trying to guess what their motive was if you two had been smart enough to keep one alive,” Caden cuts in, shaking his head.
“Enough,” Voss says, sharply. “There’s no need to keep rehashing this.
We don’t have one alive, so we need to work with what we’ve got.
We need to assume right now, based on this, that there is someone on board that is targeting one of us.
Or all of us. It’s likely they’re with the Revs, but we need to confirm.
Canmore, I need you to put your best men on this. Ears to the ground.”
Task nods. This is what his wing is trained for — lurking in the shadows, picking up bits and pieces of conversation, intercepting communications, ingratiating themselves with the general populace to gather information.
He’s certain they’ll be pleased to have something more tangible to do than the trainings he’s assigned them since boarding the Polaris. “We’ll have information by week’s end.”
“Good,” Voss says. “Canmore, Castor, we’ll reconvene at 0900. Caden, with me.”
Task stands, sheathing his saber, typing a message into his Chronogram to assemble his men for a meeting. He will find out what is happening aboard this ship.