CHAPTER EIGHT

The station around Forge II was so conventional as to be almost unnoticeable. It was large, but not as large as the one orbiting Forge V. The holotank showed 300 meters long by 300 meters wide and 200 meters deep. The kingdom’s flag was painted on over the gunmetal gray hull. The overall shape with square corners and sharp edges, hardly any exterior features, and a minimum of running lights gave the impression of a giant parking garage that had been placed into orbit by someone who hated city traffic.

The Fox approached cautiously. The boring normalcy put the bridge crew on edge, and her slow approach reflected that unease.

“Anything?” Bedford asked as the distance between them narrowed.

“Nothing, sir,” Thompson replied.

“Just how does that pompous old man think we can deliver his cargo if he won’t tell us where?” Bedford grumbled to no one.

The station loomed ever closer.

“Gunny, does that thing look armed?” Bedford asked.

Gunny studied the readouts at his station, absentmindedly tracing the scar on his head. “Cap, not really. There’s a few weapon clusters scattered around–mostly kinetic-based. The Fox herself is armed better.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Same here, Cap.” Gunny fingered his cross.

The bridge fell silent, each man staring at the approaching station.

“Thompson, at one kilometer, park the Fox.”

“Aye, Captain.”

After thirty minutes, the Fox pulled to a stop. Bedford kept her nose parallel to the station. Below them stretched the rusty red and burnt oranges of Forge II, a planet with a thin atmosphere and nothing more complex than lichen on the surface. Even from this distance, they could see the marks of the mining operations on the planet surface.

“Now what, Captain?” Thompson asked, turning partially in his seat to look at Bedford.

“Keep our scanners going, monitor the standard radio frequencies, especially the one the Pelican used earlier. We’ll move when we know something. Anything.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bedford brooded for ten minutes. “I’m going to check on something,” he announced. “Navigator has command.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the bridge responded briskly, glad their captain was going to something else besides stare holes into the back of their heads.

Bedford wandered back to his quarters. Chief Petty Officer Cotting and Chief Warrant Officer Bergeron were packing away equipment inside the room.

“Bergeron, Cotting, anything useful?” Bedford asked, not expecting much.

“No, sir. Chief Davis even lent us several of his specialty tools he uses with the engines and drives. As far as all the equipment says, nothing lived in this room but you, and nothing odd happened,” Bergeron reported carefully.

Bedford sighed. “What about the security footage?”

Bergeron shook his head. “Me and Cotting ran through hours. Nothing.”

“Of course, sir, seeing what we haven’t seen from them, if you take my meaning, I’m not sure we’d see anything on the security recordings, either,” Cotting said.

“Good point, officer. Still, I was holding out a slight hope Champollion had slipped up, even once.”

“Doesn’t look like it, sir.”

Bedford nodded. “Good job, men. We knocked a few more possibilities off the list.”

They saluted and left.

Bedford stood in the middle of his own room, feeling like a stranger.

“Watch it, Holt!” Norwood snapped.

“You watch it!”

“Both of you, how hard is it to arrange crates in a bizarre and counter-intuitive design?” Henderson barked. “If the ensign is seeing it in his head, how hard is to follow his instructions?”

Holt and Norwood looked at each other and lowered down the crate they had been moving.

“With all due respect, sir,” Holt drawled in such a way that it was easy to question his respect. “We’re not sure what baldy had in his mind.”

Norwood nodded. “I think he needs more stands to support this.”

“Or less gravity,” Holt said.

“Yeah, or less gravity,” Norwood echoed emphatically.

Bedford could hear them talking before he rounded the corner to the cargo bay.

“I just talked to him, he’s arguing with Chief Davis about how best to tune the gravity to almost one-tenth of standard just in here,” Bedford said.

“Why don’t we just do zero-g in here?” Norwood asked.

Bedford shrugged. “As soon as he gets here, you can ask him.”

“Ask me what?” LeRoy asked as he turned the corner. He took a look around. “I see my instructions weren’t followed to the letter but at least done so with much spirit,” he commented dryly.

“Blame Holt.”

“I agree, blame Norwood!” Holt responded.

“I said ‘Holt’, you dense–”

“I blame myself,” LeRoy interjected. “My mental model wasn’t quite up to snuff, and you were on the receiving end of some confusion. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Norwood said kindly.

“Gave us something to do,” Holt replied.

“Mind telling me what’s going on here?” Bedford asked.

“Let me think on how to explain this,” LeRoy mused, scratching his bald head. “The musical theory yielded several promising leads, but nothing really clicked.”

“This is where I come in,” Norwood said smugly.

“Yeah, as an accident,” Holt snorted.

LeRoy nodded. “Mr. Norwood backed into a crate while scanning, and that moved it in visual alignment with another crate.”

“Wait, what was he scanning?” Bedford asked, trying not to become confused.

“Lifeforms!” Henderson responded. “I wondered if Champollion and his weird servants had hid inside the crates.”

“Inside the crates?” Bedford asked dubiously.

“A long-shot,” Henderson admitted.

“But one worth investigating,” LeRoy added.

“Let me guess: you found nothing,” Bedford said as he picked up LeRoy’s hastily drawn diagram off the top of a crate where it had been left.

“Got it in one, Cap,” Henderson replied glumly.

“That’s been our only constant so far.” Bedford turned the paper on its side. “Explain to me what’s happening here.”

“After running through the first couple of bars of the hundred options, nothing solid was revealed, but it felt like the right direction. Something was missing until Mr. Norwood’s happy accident. I saw that the crates’ physical position, at least in this one case, revealed another pattern combined. After a few trials, I wanted to see if more patterns emerged from how they related to each other in three dimensions.”

“But why not zero-g?”

“A wild, half-baked hunch, Captain, that part of the key is also movement. The slight gravitational pull would let me rearrange the crates as they slowly fell to the ground.”

“Oooh, now I see!” Norwood exclaimed.

“Shuddup and let the man explain,” Holt said, whacking Norwood on the back of the head.

Bedford looked around dubiously. “Are you sure?”

LeRoy grinned. “No! And that’s what it makes it exciting!”

“Let’s say you crack the musical code and can play this correctly, what then?” Bedford asked. “I thought it was more of a simple cipher, or a language that could map to Standard. But what you are suggesting goes well beyond that.”

“Yes, Captain. In truth, I don’t know what to fully expect,” LeRoy admitted.

“I bet it’s going be a list of random things, like pillows,” Holt said.

“Parts for a washing machine!” Norwood offered.

“Small figurines from a gift shop!” Holt exclaimed.

“Over-due library books he’s smuggling to hide!” Norwood followed up.

“Wait, I bet it says ‘To Serve Man’!” Holt declared.

Norwood elbowed him in the stomach.

Gravity changed and loosened its hold on them.

“Looks like Davis dialed it in for you, LeRoy!”

“Good! Let’s get to work, Mr. Holt, Mr. Norwood.”

“Aye!”

Bedford watched as the four men positioned various sized crates around the bay according to LeRoy’s plan.

“Alright, stand behind me. Thank you.” LeRoy tapped his keyboard to start the first sequence.

Bedford braced himself, but this time the sounds were haunting and ethereal. Not quite strings, not quite woodwind, but something of each and something of neither. LeRoy adjusted the music in response to the slow motion of the crates, tweaking vibrato, pitch, octaves, etc. and always backing off if the music started to sour.

Enraptured, the men kept quiet as the last crate touched back down on the bay’s floor.

LeRoy muttered to himself for a minute as he reviewed the recording sped up.

“Closer. But this is going to take a lot of trial and error.”

Holt swallowed. “How much?”

“Oh, about another few hours. We have the time, correct?”

Bedford shrugged. “We’re still waiting on Champollion to send word. Could be now, could be in hours.”

Ensign LeRoy nodded.

“Captain is wanted on the bridge,” Seaman Peters said over the intercom.

“On my way,” Bedford acknowledged. “Carry on, Henderson, LeRoy.” He paused. “But be cautious. Make sure to put everything back as you found it. The last thing we want is for the Pelican to have another grievance against us.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the four said.

Bedford entered his bridge to see Agent Pierre and Aveline waiting for him. Pierre looked stern. Aveline’s brow was creased.

“Captain on bridge!”

“Ah, Captain,” Pierre greeted him with a tightness around his mouth.

“Pierre,” Bedford responded coolly as he sat in his chair.

“I have some news about Monsieur Champollion,” the agent said.

“And I’m not going to like it, am I?” Bedford asked, already dreading the answer.

“Lucas, we’ve been informed Monsieur Champollion has filed a complaint against your actions with the Endeavor and invoked his right to see restitution for your failure,” Aveline said quietly. Her shattered blade sheath was attached to her belt, inactive for now.

“As of now, by the authority of the Crown, I’m relieving you of your command,” Pierre said grimly. He paused, his face softening as he considered the captain. “The Red Fox is now property of the Crown until–wait! Wait!” The bridge crew stiffened. Pierre kept his hand raised, eyes sweeping the room, voice steady. “Until we are done delivering the cargo. Do you understand?” He studied Bedford’s face and body language as he lowered his hand.

The bridge was dead silent. All eyes were on Captain Bedford.

Bedford stopped thinking. He carefully stood up, straightened his uniform, then took a slow, deep breath. “All hands, I, Captain Lucas Bedford, under my own free will and without duress, am handing over command of the Red Fox to the agents of the Crown until they are satisfied. You are to obey Agent Pierre Corbusier as acting captain until then, as long as he acts within the bounds of common morals and decency. Captain Lucas Bedford out.” He bowed to Pierre as sincerely as he could manage. “The command is yours, sir.”

Pierre bowed back. “Accepted.” He sat in the captain’s chair without his usual flair. “All hands, as acting captain, I have received word that Monsieur Champollion will transmit the drop site coordinates within the hour. After we know the destination, we will travel there and await further instructions. While not what I was expecting, I do hope you all continue to show the professionalism you have displayed until now. Agent Pierre out.”

Aveline placed a hand on Bedford’s arm. “Thank you, Lucas.”

He didn’t see her. Bedford turned on his heel and left the bridge, unsure where to go on his own ship.