Chapter 30On my way out, I noticed Izi wasn't in the waiting room anymore. Asking around, I found that she had left immediately after my number was called and that no, she hadn't left a note. I shrugged it off, figuring she had some things to do, and hobbled out of the clinic under my own power.
[Reality Check: Friday, Feb 12 2010. 1800 hours, Hangar Deck Ready Rooms] Since I was still wearing my flight suit, and I'd lost track of my helmet somewhere along the way, I went back to the ready room where I'd passed out after the battle. There were a few people sitting on the couches, either talking amongst themselves or asleep. There weren't many happy faces to be seen. I guessed that most of the other squadrons had fared about as well as mine had. That was not an encouraging thought. Faces of old friends flashed through my mind; people that I had seen only a few hours ago, but for the last time. <I'm going to have to go over those reports some time. And call the troops in for inspection and counting tomorrow.> Eventually, I found my helmet and made my way to the showers and changing rooms nearby. They were empty. I found my locker, set my helmet on the bench, and peeled myself carefully out of my flight suit. Covered in well ripened bruises that I couldn't really feel, I abandoned my things for the shower.
Cold. Static. Echoes of static. Visions. Pain. Echoes of pain. I turn off the water and silence overwhelms me. All I can hear is water dropping to puddles far below. All I see are tiles hanging inches from my face. I'm cold all over and inside too. But I'm only numb on the outside. Tiles blend into faces, faces blend into memories. Tears mix with water and slowly drain away.
I was glad the showers were empty too, and the time did me some good. After digging through my flight suit for a minute, I managed to find my key card and opened my locker to get a change of clothes. After stowing my helmet, I was about to shut the locker and head home when I noticed a pair of sacks on the floor within. <What're these?> I wondered, pulling them out and glancing through them. <MEMICs? What's this other stuff?> The bags held a variety of chips and components, most of which I didn't have a clue about. <How the hell did these get in my locker?> After pondering the sacks for a few moments, I decided they -definitely- weren't mine, and that someone had been in my locker. <I'll figure out whose they are later. First things first.> I checked through my belongings to make sure nothing was missing, then took the sacks and headed for the Security office. <I don't like people going through my things. And I really don't want my locker used as a hidey-hole.> I stopped. <This stuff could be illegal. And if I turn it in, I'll probably never find out what it is.> I debated on what to do, and eventually settled on taking the stuff home before going to get the lock changed. The whole process wasn't difficult, and I got it taken care of inside of an hour. On my way back home, I thought <Thallin was right; Rank Hath Its Priveleges.>
[Reality Check - Friday, Feb 12 2010. 2120 hours, Kay's quarters] After doing some database searches on the components' model numbers, I was still confused as to what most of them were. They were raw computer components, I could see that, but their descriptions were either too general to be of any use or too technical to be understood. They were all pretty old, made in 2003-2005, but in good condition. That was all I could find that they had in common.. At a complete loss, I sat, thinking, staring blankly at one of the components. My eyes eventually settled on a few tiny words written on a corner of one of the chips: "Manufactured on Mars Base" Sitting up, I thought about this tiny bit of information. "Mars Base was abandoned in aught-five." I looked at the component in my hand and over at the sack on my desk. <These were brought aboard from the base today... But why were they in my locker?> Mentally listing the possibilities, I logged back into my terminal to compare my list of components to the list of supplies we'd acquired from the base before leaving. <Messages waiting... I'll get to those in a second.> The requisitions database hadn't been updated yet, though. The crews hadn't had time to calalog everything yet. <I guess I was expecting too much, considering the circumstances. Ah well, might as well check my messages.> The first message was from Tom, with a preliminary listing of the damage our veritechs had taken and what would be needed to repair them. He said the hardcopy would be ready for my signature in the morning. He looked tired and beaten, and I felt for him, but he could handle himself. The next message was from Izi. <Probably called to check on me,> I thought as I set it to play. Izi's face popped up, looking grave as she recited: "My name is Izabelle Fate. As per Tamara Sam'di's Last Will and Testament, I am to be her estate's executor. Part of her will stipulates a wake in her honor and also includes a list of guests. The following people are requested to be present at the wake to be held in Bay 5b tomorrow at 0900: Ballantyne, Phillips; Braywater, Thallin; Hemlock, Mortimer; Landers, Kay; Leau, Jack; Leeds, Vanessa; Marshall, David; Rasimus, Augustine; Tallin, Sarah; Thornely, Tricia; Winter, Alicia; Thank you for your time." <A funeral? Who's Tamara Sam'di?> A face appeared in my memory, a dark-skinned face framed by raven black hair. I remembered her deliveries, and I remembered her little scene at the White Dragon with David Marshall. I also remembered the pilots I had lost again, and the funerals they might be having. Squeezing my eyes shut against the tears, I killed my terminal and went to bed early.
An art gallery. Familiar place. Paintings blurred, but faintly recognizable. Great artists, disturbing works. I wandered the hall, looking into each piece and finding each one too painful to look at. The hall blurred. Familiar faces. Malone. McArthur. Clancy. Perry. So many faces. Pilots all dead. At the end of the hall I found the statue. Karl and I. I kept walking, looking where Karl's eyes led me. A black door. Over the door, a raven. From the raven, "Nevermore!"
[Reality Check - Saturday Feb. 13 2010. 0347 hours, Kay's quarters] I awoke with the raven's words on my own lips and rolled over. The clock told me it was too early, but my body was telling me to get up. I got up. I sat back down when the pain from my ankle hit me and reached for my crutches. Emerging from my quarters, I saw the bags on my desk and remembered where they were from. I also remembered the funeral I was supposed to go to. "Damn," I muttered. I played the message again. <Bay 5b? That's Thallin's hangar... I wonder what he has to do with all this.> I mulled over a few intangible questions as I started a cup of coffee and got dressed. <And David... and Vanessa Leeds... and why Augustine? What have they got to do with Tamara? And why should I be invited to her funeral? I hardly knew her...> I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling tiles, still thinking. <This is all very strange, but I'm not about to turn down someone's funeral. Not with that kind of invitation.> I glanced back at the terminal. <Maybe I'll find out what all this is for when I get there. Aw, shit.> I noticed another message waiting for me, this one from the Operations office. "Lieutenant Commander Kay Landers? I have an a official casualties listing for your squadron, Sir. I noticed you neglected to debrief your squadron after the battle, so I'm forwarding you the information we have so you can get on with your paperwork and submit an official report. The file should be attached to this message. Out." True enough, there was a text file attached. Opening it, I read the names and believed conditions for all persons in my squadron that had not checked in as of midnight that night. It wasn't as long as I expected, but it was still too long. "Tom Perry, Corporal, Serial Number 0889437: KIA.
I flipped off my terminal and stared at the blank screen, then I flipped it back on and got to work on the casualty reports, the new wing assignments, and a request for some new pilots. After Perry's casualty report, however, I decided to put off the rest until after I'd finished the wing assignments. After the wing assignments were finished, I put them off again until after the pilot request, and when I finished that, I was struck by an idea on how I could catch the guy that had broken into my locker. I was bound and determined to put those casualty reports off as long as I could.
[Reality Check - Saturday, Feb 13 2010, 0900 hours, SDF-1 Bay 5b] Bay 5b was, surprisingly, empty of all of Thallin's junk. I'd expected to see the VX sitting disassembled in a corner, but instead I was greeted with a large, empty bay. There were a few folding chairs, a podium, and a casket by the airlock, but their smallness just made the bay look that much more empty. I hobbled over to a seat amongst the few that were there and set the bag I had with me on the floor beside it. My idea for catching whomever had broken into my locker involved my stashing one of the bags in my locker with a low-powered short-wave transmitter stashed in it. When the guy came back for his bags, I could track him down using a trick I'd learned from my father when he tried to get Karl and I interested in HAM radio: <Whichever direction the signal is strongest from is probably the one the signal is coming from. Take two or more measurements and triangulate.> Hopefully he wouldn't think too much about the missing bag, and if I was lucky, he would forget about it. I figured I'd be able to ask Thallin about what the componenents might be used for. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thallin nod at me, almost as if he was agreeing with my plan. I glanced back at him, then stared at the podium. <No. It was only a coincidence. He didn't just read my mind.> I calmed myself down and thought through my plan as the ceremony started. Strangely enough, Izi took to the podium. "We are all gathered today to pay tribute to Supply Sergean Tamara Sam'di. Some of us here present called her friend, to some she was a co-worker, to others she was a lover. Yet all here grieve her passing in their own way, be it private or public." I listened to the ceremonies intently, trying to glean how Izi was related to Tamara, or maybe anyone else here. Unfortunately, all Izi talked about were details of Tamara's life. How she had grown up in an orphanage, living a hard life, graduated from a reform school, and had worked diligently at her job here on the SDF-1. There was no talk of relationships or emotions or how much she would be missed. Instead, Izi sang a cheezy rendition of "Tomorrow" <I suppose it makes sense, her being an orphan and all, but I really wish someone had had a better sense of humor.> After the casket was ejected into the vacuum of space and burned to nothingness by the heat of thermite, everyone silently filed out of the bay without saying much to each other. It didn't look like anyone really knew anyone else or didn't want their relationships known. Both Thallin and Augustine looked preoccupied with their own thoughts. I couldn't stick around myself because I had to get to supply and requisitions and snag a transmitter in a hurry. I didn't know when my quarry would make his move for my locker, and there was no telling how he would react when he broke into it again and found his bags gone. The paperwork for the transmitter wasn't too complicated, and I filled in the reason to be: Squadron tracking practice. When the Req officer looked it over, he asked me why I didn't get a tracker too. <What the hell,> I figured, and tacked that onto the paperwork.
[Reality Check - Saturday Feb 13 2010, 1032 hours, Pilot changing room] I'd tucked the transmitter-bug into the very bottom of the bag and the tracker into my jacket pocket, and I was getting a pretty good rhythm on the crutches by the time I got to my locker. However, it seemed that I was already too late for my plan to work. Whomever had stashed the bags into my locker was trying to get them back already. From my vantage point, I could see he had a key-card of his own, and that it wasn't working. As I approached cautiously, the fellow made several swipes with his card, growing increasingly frustrated. "Goddamit, open you rotten sod!" I recognized that voice... <Thallin!> "You worked before, so why aren't you working now?" "Possibly because I had the lock changed." Thallin spun around at the sound of my voice, looking as surprised as the time I'd caught him sneaking into an elevator with a gurney. I smiled wickedly at him, slipping the bag off my shoulder. "Tell me," I purred and held the bag up with one hand, leaning on the other crutch, "is this what you're looking for?" Thallin looked at me, then at the bag, then back at me. Still smiling, I added, "Looks to me like you owe me some answers, Lieutenant." Thallin sighed heavily, stood up straight, and rolled his eyes, "Alright. I suppose I can fill you in a little bit, but not here. I'm in somewhat of a... delicate situation here." I nodded. "Okay, let's go to my office, then. You can tell me -all- about it."
Forward to Chapter 31.
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