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a chair.
Gerald stood. "I'll get right to the point. Captain Sansky,
despite being incapacitated, has resumed command of this ship.
Confederation naval regulations permit him to do so as long as
he remains conscious and rational. The captain is conscious,
but he continues to trust Mr. Taggart."
"What the hell are you saying?" Deveraux asked.
"I specifically asked you to be here, Commander, so that I'd
have a witness. This isn't a conspiracy to commit mutiny. All I'm
asking is that you keep your eyes open. We didn't get our asses
whacked because we're stupid. Someone's been feeding the
Kilrathi our location. Maybe it's Taggart and the half-breed and
maybe it isn't. I just need to know that when the shit goes down,
you'll be there."
Falk and Sasaki nodded their compliance.
"Sir, I can alert Security," Obutu said. "They'll work quietly."
"Very well. Monitor all communications. And we have a detail
outside the ship doing hull repairs. I'd like surveillance there
and at all other major repair sites."
Obutu tapped a command into the computer slate in front of
him. "Done."
"Commander, if you think there's a saboteur on board and
you'd like to react to that suspicion, then I'm all for a quiet little
shakedown," Deveraux said. "But don't point fingers at Taggart,
Blair, or Marshall. For God's sake, Paladin single-handedly took
out that dreadnought. And Blair pulled him out of there. I'm not
worried about Marshall. I'll bring him around myself."
"Yes, they're all great officers or they're simply keeping
their enemies close." A tone came from the messenger clipped
onto Gerald's waist. He checked the note. "Well, our friends are
back. Thank you for coming. Dismissed. And Deveraux? Your
friend Mr. Taggart would like to see you on the bridge."
She made a face and hurried out.
They took the lift together. Neither spoke. The lift hummed.
Finally, Gerald broke down. "So how are you doing,
Commander?"
"Sir?"
"How are you?"
She gave him an odd look. "I'm fine. And you?"
"Never mind."
Thankfully, the ride did not last long, and they stepped onto
the bridge to find Taggart at the radar station, staring into
noth-ingness as the telltale beep of an incoming ship grew
louder.
Deveraux headed for the transparent wall of the radar
screen. "What's out there? Another destroyer?"
"It doesn't matter," Gerald called after her. "We can't take
another round of bombardment."
Her expression grew hard, meant for him and Taggart. "I
have four Rapiers ready to go. We'll go down kicking and
screaming."
"We'll do better than that, Angel," Taggart said. "That ship up
there is going to save our assess."
24
UNITED
CONFEDERATION
CARRIER TIGER CLAW
ULYSSES CORRIDOR
MARCH 17, 2654
1030 HOURS
ZULU TIME
2.5 HOURS FROM
CHARYBOIS QUASAR
JUMP POINT
Maniac had tried to sleep, but Rosie's death played itself out
in his dreams like a holo trapped in a loop. His chest felt heavy,
and the thought of food made him sick. He had risen from bed
and had accessed the ship's datanet to lose himself in video
recorded during the attack. But he found it difficult to
concentrate and twice thought he sensed Rosie staring over his
shoulder. In short, living hurt.
Now he rolled onto his stomach, his bandages tugging
painfully on his waist. His pillow smelled like her perfume, and
he took a deep breath, his eyes rimmed by tears.
Then he suddenly felt angry for what had happened. It wasn't
my fault! Do you think I wanted to get her killed?
He wasn't sure who he had asked. God, maybe. The lack of a
reply drove him farther inward, where he found his guilt
waiting for him. He had not known Rosie Forbes for very long,
but war affected time as efficiently as a gravity well. Two days or
twenty years& it didn't matter. Life grew more intense when
you lived on the border of death. You met someone, and in your
minds you got married, had kids, retired, and died all in the
span of a one- or two-day stand-down. So Maniac had shared a
lifetime with Rosie during their two days. Then he had thrown
it all away by believing that he had ultimate power and control
over his life. The safe world, the just world, had died with her.
He no longer trusted anyone or anything. And he believed in
nothing.
An alert call echoed from the intercom, but it seemed distant
and unreal. He buried his head deeper in the pillow and stared
across a black void until he saw two Dralthi detach themselves
from their wing and fly toward him. He fired all guns and
launched all missiles, but every round missed. To starboard,
Rosie's bright eyes flashed a second before both Dralthi
slammed into her fighter. He jerked up from the pillow, his
body rocked by chills.
"Lieutenant? C'mon. Open the goddamned door.
Lieutenant?"
Someone had been calling him. "Come," he said, and the
hatch slid aside.
Deveraux wore a new flight suit and had a computer slate
tucked under her arm. "I just came from a conversation with
your doctor. He wants you off your feet. I think you can handle
that seated in a cockpit. Let's go. Time to suit up."
He pulled the blanket over his boxers. "Ma'am?"
"I need my best pilots out there."
"I don't know if I'm one of your best pilots."
Her face drew up in mild disgust. "Does everyone here think I
go around making suggestions?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then I guess I gave you an order. Be on the flight deck in five
minutes." She turned to the hatch. "And do it for Rosie."
Deveraux left him floored. She had returned him to the duty
roster, but more importantly, she had acknowledged the
existence of a dead pilot. And that made Maniac suddenly want
to live. To fight. He sprang from his bed, grimacing as the
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