Ninety-two hours left in transit to the waystation in the Bedalajara system, and Karim suddenly had another problem to deal with. Of all the vessels that made up the Third Fleet, it was on his ship that something had been snuck onboard.

  It had taken nearly the full two hours with the ship on full lockdown for the Kolkata’s Identification System Intelligence – or ISI – to track the source of the signal to an individual crew member aboard the vessel. A workman on the salvage crews that had gone out back in Lyonesse to pick at the remains of Tristan Station, the crewman was found to be in the possession of a peculiar device that was emitting the anomalous signal.

  The workman had been retrieved from the crew quarters on Deck twelve, the twelfth of fifty-two outermost shells that encased the Kolkata’s inner bridge, along with the device, and brought to the command level.

  Karim had a team of investigators, officers normally involved with the prosecution of the Terran Military’s Internal Court System (ICS) to get to the bottom of the workman’s recounting of where in Lyonesse they retrieved the device. For now, Karim, with the help of his newly minted confidant, Corporal Chaasker, he and a team of science officers inspected the device.

  The alarm at which he and the rest of the crew obeyed, highlighted the device's peculiarity. The device – whatever it was – was not a product of the Terran Navy, of any civilian technology, nor even of the Herd.

  “Have we discerned what sort of signal this thing is broadcasting? Is it human?” Karim asked, leaning over the shoulder of one of the science officers.

  “The artifact appears to be emitting an early form of rift-based communication, outside the spectrum of the bulletin network,” Chaasker said. “And yes, it’s human made.”

  “Artifact?” Karim questioned, “what makes you give it that label?”

  “Just look at it, Admiral!” exclaimed a Major Slavoi Quichek unapologetically, ranking science officer in the group, “the expression of it, the markings, the inflated dimensions, not to mention the signal itself, it screams Sonne.”

  “The Sonne Protectorate?” asked Karim, intrigued, though a touch annoyed by the man’s indignance.

  “The very same!” Quichek remarked, his fascination overtaking decorum, “From the artifact’s appearance, and the overall composition of its outer construction, I would place this just before the collapse of the Sonne, circa 2210. I’d be willing to bet this thing came from a vessel that even saw Earth!”

  “And do we have any idea what it does, or more importantly, what it’s doing now?” Karim pressed. “Does it pose any danger to The Kolkata?”

  “Minimal at best,” said Chaasker, “or at least from what we can discern from passive scans. Without a way of knowing the type of signal, or the address of the recipient, we have no way of tapping in to see what the signal actually contains.”

  “It could be a military communiqué, a lost letter between distant lovers, or a wounded vessel’s distress call for all we know,” said Quichek. “How utterly fascinating!”

  “So, if it’s a rift-based communication like our bulletin system, why can’t we gain entry? The Kolkata stores command codes that should allow access to any TMN or TNS ship. Surely there exists parity in Sonne systems?” Karim posited.

  “This system is ancient,” said Chaasker, “we can measure that a rift is being generated within the device, but with no way of knowing the protocol that the system was built on, or have a receiver that can intercept the device’s outgoing signal, I’m afraid we are stuck.”

  Karim considered that.

  “And what of the last option– of this device being a distress signal?” Karim asked.

  “Whatever help this thing is calling for is long since dead,” said Quichek. “What we have now is a fascinating curio, but nothing that should concern the safety of the Fleet. Now, Admiral, if you’d indulge me I would like to continue studying the device in peace.”

  Quichek gave a backward wave of his hand in Karim’s direction. Pardoning the man’s continued impudence, he couldn’t fault Quichek for being curious. Despite the now diminished threat level surrounding the device, Karim couldn’t help but remain curious himself. Still, Quichek was right. The Admiral had more important work to do.

  Karim nodded and granted the scientist his leave.

  “Corporal Chaasker, rejoin me on the bridge at next shift,” Karim ordered, disbanding the impromptu team of researchers and ICS officers, leaving Dr. Quichek to his solitude. “And go ahead and end the lockdown.”

  “Should I also release the workman who found the device?” Chaasker asked.

  “With a slap on the wrist. Make it clear that no one brings anything aboard my fleet again without signoff.”

  Chaasker nodded and Karim headed for his quarters.

  Ninety-one hours, twenty-two minutes to go, and lying down on his bed in his quarters Karim thought he could finally get some rest. As he loosened his dāstar once more and pushed his shoes off the end of the bed, Karim let himself soften into the sheets. But, as consequence would have it, and under anticipation of the varied threats to his command his mind started running out the door as it tugged him upright in bed.

  Bruin was hiding something. He could feel that all the way across the void. Short of endless speculation, however, he knew had set them on a path that would lead to ambush or their arrest. Time would play the ultimate judge. As for the artifact, maybe it was just a curiosity like Quichek insisted. Though, Karim couldn’t help but be suspicious. For a device so seemingly benign to have turned up now, and to have been activated not in Lyonesse, but within Bedalajara only added to its mystique.

  But with little else to go on, Karim’s mind turned to another, far more manageable machination.

  In the background, and without the knowledge of the other commanders of the Third Fleet, Karim had set something in motion. During today’s intellectual diversion, Karim had momentarily retasked a subset of ICS officers, along with a small partition of the ISI’s computing power, that he’d had up until this point been working on what he called Special Projects.

  Now, with Quichek left solely in charge of the artifact, Special Projects was back operating at full capacity, laying the groundwork on their primary objective: investigating high ranking members of the Third Fleet and their potential ties to Aiden and his pirates. Karim knew, without a doubt in his mind, that Commodore der Waals was involved. What Special Projects was tasked with was uncovering the why.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Still sitting up in his bed, Karim let speculation pass through his mind, no matter how outlandish or ridiculous.

  Had der Waals been tainted as far back as the academy?

  Had he let this Aiden gain some advantage over him?

  Had der Waals been press-ganged into this by a superior officer– a member of the council even?

  Had the man been simply duped, baited off of the path by a hunter waiting in the underbrush?

  It was that last one that Karim found most intriguing. He could think of a handful of examples where a commander’s best intentions had led their own force to the fire. From the civil war on Pedi Mond, to the schism of the Herd and Sovereignty, to as far distant in history as the Commonwealth capture of Viet Nam, where coalition forces exploited the disjointed management of the local French governorate – the first shoe to drop in the fall of France and its absorption into the Commonwealth, these leaders often made critical missteps that cost their own side everything.

  He had only known der Waals for a short time, but could see the man’s infectious, almost putrid, zeal. Whatever der Waals was up to, why he had supplied their enemy, Karim felt that der Waals had done what duty seemingly required him. However misguided it may have been.

  What irked Karim now, was the level at which he endeavoured to hide his missteps. As did his own captains and their crews, people whose allegiance he expected to trust. After minutes that felt as hours, Karim decided his own rest would have to wait.

  Through the Special Project’s surveillance of the Commodore, one individual in his inner circle stood out in contrast: Captain Willem Mostro, der Waals’ Second and the only ship’s captain in the fleet without their own direct command. The captain’s words had distinctly separated himself during their Karim’s dinner of discomfort, and he remained affable in the face of his own uneasiness.

  Karim knew he had to speak to the man, but any unorthodox bulletin traffic between The Kolkata and der Waals’ Mercurial would be flagged and scrutinised. Instead, he had to find another way of meeting with him face-to-face. With over three days to go until the engagement with the waystation and the Yesteryear, Karim felt he had the time to burn on a few in-person inspections of the older vessels in the fleet. Near the top of that list: The Mercurial.

  Karim’s inspection of the battleship The Emphatic went smoothly. He knew it would have been foolish to begin his subterfuge aboard the Mercurial. And so, in the most benign way possible, Karim began his fleet inspection alphabetically aboard the battleships; first was The Emphatic, followed closely by The Mercurial.

  The Emphatic’s Captain Kennith Fawes turned out to be a competent commander running a tight ship. And despite Karim’s first impression of him as meek during the dinner party aboard The Kolkata, Karim couldn’t help but contract from Captain Fawes the infectious sense of duty that resonated from him throughout the whole of the Emphatic’s crew.

  With little words and zero infractions for Karim to uncover, he quickly wrapped his inspection of the Emphatic and moved onto his main prize.

  The Mercurial’s crew was operating under a different reality. As Karim’s shuttle doors opened and he stepped out he could feel the calm disquiet. Its crew, and in fact its entire atmosphere, was one of submission and downtrodden by tension trickled down from its tributarial source: der Waals.

  “Greetings Admiral,” announced Captain Willem Mostro, “We are flattered by your presence aboard The Mercurial and hope that it may live up to your standard.”

  “Welcome Admiral,” said Commodore der Waals, stepping just ahead of Mostro.

  “Hello to you both,” Karim said, trying to continue the nonchalance. “I don’t expect this inspection to take very long.”

  “Of course, sir. We know it’s just procedure and you have many other ships to cover,” said Mostro.

  “It’s any wonder why this inquiry comes now, of all times,” der Waals said haughtily, “with wolves at the treeline.”

  “Commodore, I’ve my own reasons for meeting the crews and ships that serve under me. As Admiral that is my prerogative,” said Karim, “And I have my own faculty along with me, so your participation is optional.”

  Der Waals shrugged, “If you can find your way around on your own, by all means. I have other matters to attend to.”

  “I would like it if Willem were to accompany me, it being his captainship.”

  “Yes of course, Admiral,” said Mostro. “Where to first?”

  Karim waited for der Waals to dismiss himself and leave earshot before saying, “I wonder if there’s somewhere a little more discreet we could talk.”

  Puzzled at first, Mostro led Karim on a roundabout way to his own quarters. Leaving his attendants to continue on with their checklist inspection of the vessel, Karim accompanied Mostro. As soon as the bulkhead door closed, Mostro turned to Karim with a suspecting look on his face.

  “I know what this is about,” Mostro said.

  “You do?”

  “I’ve known this was coming since your naming as Admiral to our fleet. I have served under der Waals long enough to know when to keep my head down, but I assure you my allegiance is first and foremost to the fleet and The Sovereignty.”

  “Your loyalty isn’t in question, Willem. You can relax,” Karim said, taking a seat on the wall bench in Mostro’s quarters’ dining nook.

  “Call me Bill,” said Mostro.

  “Bill, then. As I was saying it’s not your allegiances I question. You’ve been under der Waals for most of your career, so as far as I and The Karess are considered, the blame for this rests solely with him. No, what I came here for – what I wanted to talk to you about – is information. You are the one closest to the Commodore, and from what I was able to discern from our discomforting meal together, I believe you can be trusted.”

  “So that dinner was a test,” said Mostro with a smirk. “Well, contrary to what you seem to be implying, I am not der Waals’ right-hand man. He was always careful to keep me at arm’s length. I imagine he trusted me just enough to get the job done, to follow orders, but not to bear any of the specifics.”

  “Anything you can give me, even the smallest crumb, would help in painting the picture I would like to surrounding his guilt.”

  Mostro considered that for several moments. It was plain to Karim that the man was wrestling with some internal demons, but as pained as he seemed, his loyalty to his Admiral won out.

  “I am aware, from context, that the Commodore was in regular contact with the pirates, most likely this one you call Aiden,” Mostro offered, “I was never on the bulletins, but from the pirate’s ability to out manoeuvre us and stay ahead of our fleets movements, it was crystal that they were being tipped off.”

  “I’ve noticed that too,” Karim said. “Do you have any concrete proof of this? Communications logs? Voice recordings?”

  “Apologies Admiral, no,” Mostro said, “The Commodore is careful to scrub any mentions of these accesses from the comms array by executive authority. He takes any and all calls patched into his private quarters. My exposure to all of this is only crust deep.”

  “Any idea on how Aiden came into the ships, armaments, or the Letters of Marc for that matter?”

  “None, sorry.”

  “You mentioned that der Waals was communicating with Aiden’s gang,” Karim started, “up until how recently?”

  “He has become more cagey in the weeks since you took command, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I believe this open line is ongoing.”

  “Can anyone corroborate that?”

  “Vermalen,” Mostro said, pinning Captain Kovarova Vermalen. “Whenever a bulletin comes in for The Commodore, it’s patched in through Vermalen’s destroyer and using her private ID address. If there’s questions to be answered, she’s the one that could answer them I bet. I hope that helps.”

  “It does,” Karim said, not wanting to elaborate on the vacant list of dead leads.

  “Now, then,” Mostro said, returning to the door of his quarters. “I imagine it’s time we kept up the charade and got moving, lest the crew talk and it migrate back to der Waals.”

  Karim nodded and stood, following Mostro to the open doorway.

  “He’s got something on you, Bill. Doesn’t he?” asked Karim, pausing at the threshold. “Something substantial.”

  “Nothing that is more important than the fleet, sir,” said Mostro, poorly hiding his own inner anguish.

  Karim nodded again, trusting the man to weigh his own heart.

  He and his inspection team finished up on The Mercurial before moving on down the line of battleships, then to the destroyers, all the way to Captain Vermalen’s The Relentless.

  However, before heading over to The Relentless’ docking bay, Karim had it called off citing “the fatiguing body of an ageing man,” and invited the good Captain to kick off the captain-to-admiral meeting portion of the inspection over dinner aboard his quarters on The Kolkata. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of a home pitch advantage, along with any of the bugs that der Waals’ might have had set up ahead of time, he hoped the abrupt shift in schedule might work to throw Vermalen off balance.

  And he was right.