CHAPTER SEVEN

Bedford felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He stared blankly at the empty room as the French agents pushed past him to see what he wasn’t seeing.

“Alright,” Bedford said slowly as he scratched his chin.

Pierre stood shaking his head, just as lost as Bedford. He was muttering something under his breath that Bedford didn’t quite catch, but it sounded like a malediction, as precise as Captain Ahab hurling a harpoon.

Aveline compressed her lips into a thin line.

“Alright,” Bedford said again, this time with more feeling. “Let’s check the cargo bay on the off chance our esteemed guest is loitering around there.” He didn’t wait to see if the agents followed.

The cargo bay was full.

“Alright,” Bedford said slowly a third time as he patted the crates to make sure they were there. “Bedford to bridge. Does anyone have eyes on our Monsieur Champollion?”

There was a pause. “No, sir.”

“Anything within range of the Fox? A shuttle? Small boat? Anything?”

“Again, no.”

Bedford wanted to sit down, but it was a luxury he didn’t grant himself because the only things he could sit on were Champollion’s crates. Instead, he headed back to the bridge, mind racing over the impossibilities he kept encountering. He should never have worked with the French. Just jumped from Saint Anne’s with a hope and a song. Aveline was talking to Pierre in low, hushed tones and had this been a normal day, Bedford could have understood what was being said. He ignored them, not because he was trying to be rude, but because he just couldn’t right then.

“Captain on bridge!” XO called out as Bedford entered.

Bedford dropped into his chair with barely concealed relief.

“XO, we have a situation. Monsieur Champollion and his assistants do not seem to be on board our fine ship.”

“Alright,” Henderson said slowly.

“That’s what I said,” Bedford said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Captain, we have a radio transmission coming from the station,” Thompson interjected.

“Oh, Lord… Put it on.”

“Captain,” Monsieur Champollion said smugly, “since we had a slight altercation which left you hard-pressed to resolve it quickly, and after you warned your enemy, I was forced to take countermeasures to ensure my safety. If it doesn’t exceed your ever-shrinking abilities, please see to delivering my personal belongings.”

Bedford sat in thought for a second, tapping the arm of his chair. “Pierre, Aveline, well?”

The French agents looked at each other. Aveline gave a small shrug. Pierre nodded.

“Captain Bedford,” Pierre began formally, “I must impress upon you the seriousness of this assignment, a matter that extends past personal feelings or previous alignments.”

Bedford watched him carefully.

“However, and against my personal judgment or desires, I must offer an apology for Monsieur Champollion’s treatment of you and your crew. He has been more than overbearing in his manners and demeanor and inconsiderate in word and deed,” Pierre continued with some hesitancy as he felt out the proper words.

“I see.”

“Despite all that, you must deliver Monsieur Champollion’s cargo,” Pierre finished in clipped tones.

Bedford narrowed his eyes. “Sirrah, that was always my intention. I was asking about how we should proceed to successfully deliver it.”

“Oh,” Pierre responded, slightly surprised. “In that case, we keep going and as soon as we are in range of the station, then we’ll receive further instructions.”

“No chance of Champollion whisking those away as well?”

Pierre shrugged. “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he swapped them out for singing frogs or something equally irritating.”

Aveline tittered. “Wouldn’t that be something!”

Bedford stared at Pierre. Pierre stared at Bedford. They burst out laughing and the rest of the bridge joined in, tension draining from this simple, shared act.

“Alright, alright! Steady as she goes, Thompson!” Bedford said after the laughter slowed.

“Aye, aye, sir! Steady as she goes!”

Captain Harrington clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from fidgeting.

“Well?”

“Captain,” reported his Chief Science Officer, “we have residue readings that make no real sense.”

Harrington scowled. All that work to track down the rebels. Having that eel Bedford watched on the station. Following him, then anticipating where he’d come out of jump space. Finally, by God! Finally having a stroke of luck. And now this?

“Send out more probes. I want everything we can gather about this. Keep on it as long as the Chief Science Officer approves. But if those rebels leave, we’ll track them again.”

“Roger, sir.”

Harrington mused. If the French had such a weapon at their disposal, if he could negotiate terms with them, what a boon that would be to the Republic!

“XO, I’m going to check on that cargo again.” Bedford couldn’t just sit on the bridge like this, not now.

“Aye, Cap. XO has command.”

Bedford worried more than he walked. He wasn’t prepared to find both the pastor and doctor waiting for him in the bay.

“I feel like this is an ambush,” Bedford commented dryly.

The other two exchanged glances.

“Yes,” said Pastor Blanchett firmly.

“No,” said Doctor Pickering hesitantly.

“Hmm. Lay it on me, boys. What’s my problem now?”

Again, glances exchanged.

Pickering cleared his throat and went first. “I’m worried about your mental state.”

Bedford blinked a few times. “What?”

Pickering sighed. “You are under a lot of pressure coming from all sides. The one escape you took was to drink in a bar. In the middle of the day. Alone. Captain, playing cards with a foreign agent isn’t helping you, either. It’s more of the same thing.”

“Ok-ay,” Bedford responded slowly.

“Bedford. Captain. I know we haven’t been together long,” Blanchett said as he eased down to sit on a crate. “So please take this knowing it comes from a place of respect.”

“You are being very formal, Pastor,” Bedford said pointedly.

Blanchett shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that. I’m trying to make sure I say this correctly.” He paused, mouth pursed. “I know we have obligations that are nigh-inescapable. I didn’t say anything when Agent Pierre was brought on board. I didn’t say anything when the strange man Champollion and his companions were allowed to board.”

“So why are you saying anything now?” Bedford demanded curtly.

Blanchett sat up straighter and smiled broadly. “While our good doctor is worried about your mental state, I’m worried about our souls.”

“And?”

“What we’ve brought on board?” Blanchett shook his head side to side. “Denying our understanding of the laws of physics is one thing; it’s the mind behind it that has me most worried.”

“Champollion is a pain in the neck, but I don’t see how–”

“Because, Lucas, you can’t see how!” Blanchett cut him off decisively. His face softened. “You are a good man, Lucas, a dutiful man, and those fine qualities blind you.”

“So, what then? I don’t deliver whatever this is?” Bedford snapped, waving a hand at the cargo.

Blanchett looked mortified. “Heaven’s no! I’m cautioning you as you move forward with fulfilling your duties, you keep your eyes open and your wits about you. And lean on others to let them see what you can’t.”

“And do something relaxing, Captain!” Pickering demanded. “I mean, really relaxing. Play cards with the men tonight. Drink more than you should. Invite Pierre if you want, but include others! You are letting all these burdens overwhelm you!”

Bedford gave a half-smile at that. “I’ve heard that before, Doctor.” He took a shuddering breath. “Message received, gentlemen. I promise to take better care of myself.”

Both men held him in their gaze.

“Promise!”

“Hmm,” they said.

“Enough, enough!”

Once again, glances were exchanged.

“I think he heard us, Doctor.”

“Let’s see if he changes, Pastor.”

“I’m still right here!” Bedford protested.

A slight cough came from right outside the cargo bay door.

“Captain?” LeRoy asked in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“LeRoy, come on in! I was just being badgered–”

“Counseled!”

“By a young quack and nosy pastor,” Bedford continued without missing a beat.

“Good. You deserved it,” LeRoy said matter-of-factly.

Bedford sighed. “Et tu? But you aren’t here to discuss my various moral failings.”

“No, sir. In trying to decipher the writing, I had some ideas I wanted to try.” LeRoy held up a bag of equipment.

“Are we in your way?” Bedford asked.

“No.”

LeRoy pulled out a musical keyboard from his bag as the others looked on with interest.

“You going to serenade the cargo?” Bedford asked.

“I think the writing is closer to a musical scale than an alphabet,” the ensign explained as he set up a collapsible stand for the keyboard. “I had the Fox generate several possible tonal frameworks, scales, time signatures, modes, keys, harmonic ratios, and so forth based on the patterns of repeated shapes, sizes, and lengths of the writings on the cargo. I also pulled up the last ten years of Champollion’s publications to the Academy and Vatican to see if he worked on anything related to musical theory. He didn’t directly, but several of his papers had footnotes on ‘repeating harmonic fractal structures’ as related to his archaeology work.”

“The Fox already had that in her databanks?” Bedford asked, confused.

“No, sir, I requested a full data dump from Bonnes Fortunes as we were preparing. It was surprisingly inexpensive.”

“I see. How many variations did you generate?”

“Roughly a hundred I deem viable to even attempt.” LeRoy powered on the keyboard and plugged in a datastick. “My plan is to run through them and see if anything feels like it’s matching the writing structures.”

“‘Feels’, Ensign?” Blanchett asked, finding himself pulled in more than he expected.

“Yes, Pastor. There’s no way to know if what I’m doing is anywhere on the right track. I don’t have a standard against which to measure. I am assuming the sounds will feel rational to a listening ear, and not just chaos or random sounds.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Bedford asked, also becoming more interested.

“From the arrangement of artifacts and curios back at Champollion’s room. A mind that organized such a trophy room wouldn’t embrace anything less than something rational,” LeRoy explained patiently.

The other men moved out of the way to give LeRoy a good view of the strapped-down crates.

“Proceed whenever you are ready, Ensign.”

LeRoy nodded and tapped a key sequence. The sounds were horrible–a screeching, dying ore harvester being crushed by overwhelming pressure would have sounded more delightful. LeRoy stopped it. “Obviously, this is a rough first attempt.”

The others uncovered their ears.

“I think I will be going now,” Pickering said, a little too loudly.

The other two agreed and left the ensign to his musical madness.

“Fold!”

“Henderson, are you throwing this game on purpose?” Norwood asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Holt chuckled as he raked in the chips. “If I can win with a low three-of-a-kind, I’ll take it!”

“Shuddup,” Henderson suggested politely.

“Hey, it’s the Cap!” Gunny Richardson called out. “Gonna play a few rounds?”

Bedford came over with a cooler he plunked on the table. “Yup. Brought cold beers, too. Doctor’s orders.”

The men cheered, a spot was made at the table, and Gunny shuffled and dealt the cards.

“Standard rules?” Bedford asked.

“As long as we’re sober enough to remember!” Norwood said, laughing.

“Perfect. I have two hours before I need to be on the bridge. Starting the bid at five.”