Graviton Divide, page 14
Jaime entered the shuttle bay, walking toward me. His usual casual posture was gone. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable.
“Can I have a word, Chief?” he asked. His voice was low and even.
“Go ahead,” I said, turning to face him.
He gestured to a corner of the bay, away from the open shuttle hatch. I followed him. We stood near a stack of empty cargo containers.
“This plan,” he began, his eyes fixed on mine. “It feels off.”
“It’s a standard intelligence-gathering operation,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “The parameters are clear.”
“The parameters are what feels off,” he countered. “You’re sending a two-person team into a facility that, according to your own intel, holds Chimera-related hardware. And you’re keeping the security code from the primary pilot? You’re giving all that responsibility to Denny?”
“Denny is the co-pilot,” I stated. “Managing mission-critical data is part of his role. It’s a test of his readiness for more command responsibility.”
“Is that what this is?” Jaime’s voice was sharp. “A test? Because it feels like you’re setting him up for something. We found that data fragment together, Rae. We both know where it pointed. If you have a suspicion, you should be straight with me. With the crew.”
“I am being straight with you. My investigation is ongoing. This mission is an operational necessity. The security protocols I implemented apply to everyone.”
“This isn’t about protocols,” he said, taking a step closer. “This is about trust. You’re asking me to fly blind into a situation where my co-pilot has critical information that I don’t. That’s a tactical flaw, and you know it. If we get into trouble down there, I need every piece of information to make the right call. You’re withholding a key variable.”
“It’s a calculated risk,” I replied, my voice firm. “I made the calculation. Your job is to fly the shuttle.”
The words created a new distance between us. His jaw tightened. The easy camaraderie we had built during the late-night investigation was gone, replaced by a rigid, professional hierarchy I had just imposed.
“Understood, Chief,” he said. The title was formal, a deliberate choice. He turned and walked toward the shuttle without another word.
The friction was a necessary consequence of my decision. I could not bring him into my confidence without compromising the integrity of the test. He saw a tactical flaw. I saw a necessary deception. The conflict was unavoidable.
I left the shuttle bay. The conversation had unsettled me. I needed to focus. I went to the medbay to retrieve the standard field medkit for the mission. Tala was at her supply locker, organizing sterile packets of synth-skin and trauma dressings. She had already prepared the kit. It sat on her main diagnostic table.
She looked up as I entered. “Jaime is upset,” she stated.
“He disagrees with my operational plan,” I replied, walking over to the table and picking up the kit.
“He feels you are not trusting him,” she said, closing the locker. “He’s not the only one. The new protocols, the compartmentalization of information. It creates distance. It is a tool of control, not of unity.”
“It’s a necessary tool,” I said. “It’s the only way to ensure operational security until the leak is found.”
Tala walked over to her desk and brought up a display on her console. It showed a series of biometric charts. My charts. “You are carrying this entire investigation on your own. The weight of it is visible. Your biometrics show elevated cortisol and a lack of REM sleep for the past three days.”
“I’m fine, Tala. I’m focused.”
“I am not questioning your focus,” she said, her voice calm and even. “I am questioning the cost. You are creating a test for a member of this crew. You are using deception, the same tool our enemies use. Have you considered what happens if you are wrong?”
“If I’m wrong, I will have damaged the trust of one of my crew members,” I said. “I will take full responsibility for that.”
“And what happens if you are right?” she asked.
“Then the trust was already broken,” I replied. “I’m just confirming it.”
“A fracture confirmed is still a fracture, Rae,” she said. “The family you’ve built is based on healing broken things, not on breaking them further to see if they are sound. Be careful that the methods you use to protect this crew do not become the thing that destroys it.”
She did not need to say Denny’s name. We both knew who she was talking about. Her words were not a judgment, but a warning. The moral stakes of my decision were now clearly defined. I was walking a line between protecting my crew and betraying its core principles.
“I understand the risks,” I said. I took the medkit from the table. “Thank you for the supplies.”
I left the medbay. The weight of Tala’s concern and Jaime’s distrust was a tangible pressure. I had isolated myself, creating a necessary but painful distance from the two people I had come to rely on the most. It was the price of the investigation.
I returned to the shuttle bay and boarded the shuttle. Mik was in the aft compartment, running a final check on his suit’s oxygen levels. I walked forward into the cockpit. Jaime was in the pilot’s seat, his expression cold and professional as he monitored the ship’s systems. Denny was beside him, his attention on the navigation console, where he was reviewing the approach vector I had given him. He looked up as I entered and gave me a nod.
“Pre-flight checks are complete, Chief,” he reported. “Navigation is plotted and loaded.”
“Good work,” I said. I took my seat at the small mission specialist’s console directly behind the two pilots. From here, I could monitor their controls and the shuttle’s sensor feeds.
“Status report,” I ordered.
“All systems are green,” Jaime said, his eyes on the forward viewscreen. “Ready for departure on your mark.”
“Acknowledged,” I said. I keyed the comm to Indira’s bridge. “Vos, this is Jacobs. Shuttle team is ready to deploy.”
“Understood, Commander,” Vos’s voice came back. “Docking clamps are released. You are cleared for departure. Maintain comms silence as per protocol. Good luck.”
“Jacobs out.” I closed the channel. I turned to Jaime. “Detach from Indira. Proceed with the mission.”
“Detaching,” Jaime confirmed.
The shuttle disconnected from the docking port with a soft thud. He engaged the maneuvering thrusters, and the small ship moved away from Indira’s hull. On the viewscreen, our freighter grew smaller against the backdrop of uncharted space. Then, Jaime turned the shuttle, and we were facing the coordinates for the Epsilon Eridani system.
“Engaging AGFD drive,” he announced. The shuttle’s engine hummed to life. The jump was brief. A moment of distorted light, and then we were in the target system.
“Jump complete,” Jaime reported. “We are one light-hour from Depot 734. Switching to silent running.”
The shuttle’s main drive powered down. We were now moving on low-power maneuvering thrusters, our thermal signature minimized. The interior of the cockpit was quiet, filled with the low hum of the life support and the soft clicks of console inputs. The tension was palpable. It was the standard tension of a stealth mission, but it was compounded by the friction I had created.
I watched Denny on my console. He was monitoring the navigation chart, his inputs precise. He was cross-referencing the pre-planned route with the shuttle’s real-time sensor data, preparing to call out the course corrections. He was performing his duty exactly as I had instructed. The guilt was a cold, constant presence.
For the next hour, we drifted. Jaime made small, precise burns with the thrusters, using the system’s asteroid belt for sensor cover.
“Approaching the target’s sensor range,” Denny announced. “Five hundred thousand kilometers out. Moving to final approach vector.”
“Acknowledged,” Jaime said. He made a final course correction, aligning us with the trajectory I had plotted.
“Depot 734 is now visible on passive sensors,” Denny reported. “Gravimetric signature matches the intel. No other ships detected in the vicinity.”
On the main viewscreen, a small point of light appeared against the black. As we grew closer, it resolved into the shape of the automated cargo depot, a cluster of modules attached to a dark asteroid.
We were here. The loyalty test had begun. The next thirty minutes would determine if Denny Kael was a victim, a traitor, or an innocent boy I had wronged with my suspicion. The outcome, whatever it was, would change everything.
Flying Blind
An Inconclusive Test
The shuttle moved through the dark, its maneuvering thrusters firing in short, precise bursts. On the main viewscreen, Depot 734 grew from a point of light into a functional, unremarkable structure. It was a cluster of gray, prefabricated modules bolted to a dark, pockmarked asteroid. There were no running lights, no signs of activity.
“Final approach vector,” Denny’s voice was steady in the cockpit’s quiet. He monitored the navigation console, his eyes tracking the pre-planned route. “Drifting two degrees to port to compensate for the asteroid’s gravity well. Course correction in three… two… one… mark.”
Jaime adjusted the controls, his movements economical. The shuttle responded, aligning itself with the new trajectory. He was flying with a cold, detached professionalism. The friction between us was a silent passenger in the small cockpit.
“Passive sensor sweep is clean,” Denny reported. “No energy signatures other than the depot’s automated systems. No ships in the vicinity.”
“Acknowledged,” I said from the mission specialist’s station behind them. I monitored their consoles and the shuttle’s external sensors. Everything was exactly as the unaltered intel had described. The depot was quiet. There was no reception party. No ambush. The loyalty test was failing.
“We are in the depot’s sensor blind spot,” Denny said. “Proceeding to Docking Clamp 4-C.”
Jaime guided the shuttle to the designated docking clamp. The magnetic locks engaged with a solid thud. The connection was secure.
“We’re here,” Jaime said, his voice flat. He powered down the non-essential systems. “Good luck down there, Chief.”
“Mik, let’s go,” I said over the suit comm.
Mik and I were in the aft compartment, our helmets sealed. We did a final check of our sidearms and equipment. The plan was for us to board, disable the security, and retrieve the target container.
The shuttle’s airlock connected to the depot’s docking tube. The pressure equalized with a hiss. I opened the inner hatch and we stepped out. The depot’s corridor was utilitarian, made of standard plasteel plating. The air was thin and smelled of ozone and cold metal. It was lit by stark, white emergency strips. The only sound was the low hum of the station’s life support.
We moved through the empty corridors. Our boots made soft sounds on the deck plates. We passed a series of large, sealed cargo bays. The signs were automated, indicating the contents: ‘Mineral Ore - Grade 3,’ ‘Atmospheric Filters,’ ‘Nutrient Paste - Bulk.’ Everything was consistent with a low-value storage facility.
We reached the central hub. A directory on the wall pointed toward the different sections. I located the command for ‘Central Control.’ We followed the arrow down a smaller corridor.
The control room door was a standard-issue pressure hatch with a digital lock. It was sealed.
“This is it,” I said to Mik.
He took a position by the door, his hand resting on the grip of his stunner. He scanned the corridor in both directions. It remained empty.
I approached the control panel next to the door. I accessed its interface. A prompt appeared on the small screen: ‘Enter Command Override Code.’ This was the terminal that controlled the automated turrets.
This was the moment of the test. If there was a trap, this was where it would be sprung. I had given Denny the false code. If he had transmitted it, Kellen Price’s forces would know our exact plan. They would be waiting for us to attempt to bypass the security. But there was no one here. The test was inconclusive. My objective now was to complete the overt mission, to maintain the fiction that this was a legitimate intelligence operation.
I input the real security code, the one I had taken from the unaltered Vossan data: Z-4B7T2-9.
The screen flashed green.
ACCESS GRANTED. SECURITY SYSTEMS DISABLED.
The lock on the door disengaged with a loud click. I pushed the hatch open.
The control room was small and dark, lit only by the blinking lights of the server racks that lined the walls. A central console sat in the middle of the room. There was no one here. The air was stale.
“Control room is clear,” I reported to Mik. “The intel on the security system was accurate.”
Mik entered the room, his eyes scanning the corners. “So where’s the Chimera gear?”
“According to the manifests, it’s in Cargo Bay 12,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We left the control room and made our way to Cargo Bay 12. The large bay door was sealed. I used the command override from the control room to open it. The door slid upward with a low groan, revealing a vast, dark space.
Our helmet lights cut through the darkness. The bay was filled with rows of standard shipping containers. They were stacked three high, organized in a neat grid. I checked the manifest on my datapad. I located the container we were looking for, designated with the call sign of New Dawn Logistics.
It was in the back corner of the bay. We walked toward it. I pulled out my data slicer and prepared to bypass the container’s electronic lock. Mik had his plasma cutter ready in case a physical breach was necessary.
We reached the container. It was a standard, two-meter cube. The New Dawn Logistics logo was stenciled on its side.
I connected the data slicer to the lock’s interface port. I ran a simple bypass command. The lock was standard corporate-grade security, not military. The command was accepted. The magnetic seals disengaged with a series of clunks.
I opened the container door. Mik aimed his light inside.
The container was filled with atmospheric filters. Dozens of them, packed in standard foam insulation. There were no cryo-stasis pods. There was no neurological conditioning equipment.
“The intel was bad,” Mik stated, his voice a low grumble of frustration. He kicked the side of the container. “We came all this way for air filters.”
“It seems so,” I replied, keeping my voice even. I disconnected the slicer. “The manifests were either falsified or outdated. The target is not here.”
“So the whole mission was a waste of time and fuel,” he said.
“Not entirely,” I said. “We confirmed the facility’s status. We tested our stealth approach capabilities. It was a valuable reconnaissance run.” It was a plausible explanation. Mik grunted, unconvinced.
“Let’s go,” I said. “There’s nothing for us here.”
We left the cargo bay and returned to the shuttle. The depot remained silent and empty. I sealed the shuttle’s airlock behind us.
I walked into the cockpit. Jaime and Denny were at their stations.
“Report, Chief,” Jaime said, turning in his seat.
“The intel was bad,” I stated. “The target container held atmospheric filters. No signs of any Chimera-related materials. The depot is just what it looks like: a low-priority storage facility. We’re heading back to Indira.”
Denny’s shoulders slumped slightly. “So we got nothing?”
“We got confirmation that the lead was a dead end,” I replied. “That’s still a piece of intelligence.”
Jaime looked at me, his expression searching. He knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t press. He turned back to the controls.
“Acknowledged,” he said. “Preparing for departure.”
The shuttle detached from the depot. Jaime piloted us back to the jump point where Indira was waiting. The return trip was silent. The mission had failed. The loyalty test had yielded no result. The weight of my deception and the inconclusiveness of the test was a heavy burden.
We docked with Indira. I gave a full debrief to Vos and Tala on the bridge. I reported the bad intel and the mission’s failure. I did not mention the loyalty test. That information remained confined to my own investigation log. Vos was frustrated but accepted the outcome. A mission based on partial data was always a risk.
For the next twenty-four hours, the crew of Indira tried to find a new routine. We were in uncharted space, our next move uncertain. My investigation was stalled. The subtle sabotage began the next morning.
I was in the main workshop with Mik. We were working on the starboard maneuvering thruster, the one that had been damaged in the ambush. The physical repairs were complete, but the thruster’s gravimetric alignment was off by 0.02 percent. It was a minor deviation, but it would affect our maneuverability in a combat situation.
“I need the gravimetric calibrator,” I said to Mik. “The handheld unit. It should be in the precision tools locker.”
“On it,” he replied. He walked over to a reinforced locker at the back of the workshop. He keyed in his access code. The locker door hissed open. He looked inside, then turned back to me, his brow furrowed.
“It’s not here.”
“What do you mean, it’s not here?” I asked, walking over. “It has a designated slot. I used it myself last week to realign the cargo bay’s grav-plates.”
I looked inside the locker. The calibrator was a specialized piece of equipment, a small, complex device with a series of sensitive emitters. Its custom-molded slot in the locker’s foam interior was empty.
“Someone must have moved it,” Mik said. “Denny, were you in here this morning?” he called out. Denny was in the adjacent storage bay, reorganizing the new atmospheric filters we had acquired.
He came into the workshop. “Yes, Mik. I was grabbing a new CO2 scrubber for the life support system.”
