“You want to take a guess?”
“Huh?”
“Go on Fitz, take a guess.”
“I have no idea what—”
“An Emerson field.”
“What?”
“Apparently, if you do the right math, you can tune an Emerson field to imaginary wavelengths that interact rather interestingly with a coherent beam of tachyons. According to Bill, exactly the massive power sink and overload that took out our comm array and half the drive sensors.”
Mallory looked at Wahid and the silence stretched for nearly a full minute before Mallory said, “That means someone sabotaged us.”
“Someone with access to disable the security cams in the maint tunnel.”
Such as someone whose nominal shipboard duty was security. Mallory started to stand up. “I think you might have the wrong—”
Wahid put a hand on Mallory’s chest and eased him back down into a sitting position. “That news got everyone on the bridge a little upset. The idea one of our colleagues shafted us, stranding us in the ass-end of nowhere without even the ability to call for help. Now figuring out who, that’s an issue. I mean we got four or five people who had access. Mosasa and Parvi can go anywhere, of course. The technical folks. Security, of course.” Wahid stared into Mallory’s eyes. Mallory didn’t say anything for fear of betraying himself. “You’re Catholic. Right, Fitz?”
“Yes.”
“I figured, since I had to fetch you out of a church of all places.”
“What are you—”
“You know, Dr. Dörner of all people, she remembered you when I mentioned that. Funny thing is, the guy she remembered wasn’t named Fitzpatrick.” Wahid leaned back and said, “Why the fuck did you screw us over like this, Mallory?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hand me your gun, slowly.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
Wahid drew his own weapon and pointed it at Mallory. “You know, Mosasa doesn’t think so. Last I checked, he’s in charge. Hand it over. Now.”
Mallory didn’t have much choice, he pulled his sidearm out of its holster and held it out butt first. Wahid took it.
“I think we need to talk—” Mallory started to say. His words were cut short when Wahid struck the side of his face with his own gun, hitting him hard enough to knock him sideways out of his seat. Mallory landed on hands and knees, spitting up blood.
“Believe me,” Wahid told him, “we’re going to have a nice long talk. But right now, you’re going back to your cabin, locked up and out of the way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Confession
We are defined by the secrets we choose to keep.
—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom
Every man must get to heaven in his own way.
—FREDERICK II “the GREAT” (1712-1786)
Date: 2526.05.24 (Standard) Xi Virginis
Mallory had been confined to his cabin for nearly twenty hours, isolated from the rest of the ship, having no idea if they had tached to a new colony yet or not. During that time, his mind was divided between the enormity of what was happening in the universe around them and the enormity of what was happening aboard the Eclipse.
Someone had sabotaged the tach-comm and had done so in a very sophisticated manner. Mallory immediately suspected a Caliphate agent, but he couldn’t force that scenario to make sense. Why would the Caliphate want to destroy the tach-comm? Did they know what happened to the star that used to be here?
Why then destroy the tach-comm and not the whole ship? Mallory knew enough to realize that the same sabotage that neutralized their FTL communications could have easily wiped out their engines, stranding them or destroying the ship long before they reached Xi Virginis.
As unstable as he had appeared on the bridge, Mallory wondered if it was possible that Mosasa had done it.
He wasn’t prepared when the door to his cabin finally slid open.
He was expecting Wahid, or perhaps Mosasa himself. He wasn’t expecting Nickolai. It makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s the other half of the security detail.
The three-meter-tall tiger filled the doorway, a wall of muscle and fur. Mallory wondered what kind of interrogation techniques the tiger had been trained in.
“Your real name is Francis Xavier Mallory?” Nickolai asked.
Mallory decided that he had long passed the point where Sergeant Fitzpatrick served any use, and Mallory allowed his alias to die alone and unmourned. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“You are a priest.”
“Yes.” The next thing you’ll ask is why I blew up the tach-comm and stranded us here. The problem was, his alias made it hard to produce a credible denial. He wondered how deep the interrogation would have to go before his denials were credible—or he gave in and told them what they wanted to hear.
“May I speak with you?” Nickolai asked.
“I’m not in a position to refuse.”
Nickolai stepped into Mallory’s cabin and allowed the door to slide shut behind him. Nickolai loomed over Mallory, seeming to take up half the volume of the cabin. Mallory could feel the tiger’s breath on his face, and it took an effort of will to keep his body from reacting.
For several moments they stood on opposite sides of the cabin, Mallory staring at Nickolai, waiting for the questioning to begin. The questions, however, were not what Mallory had anticipated.
“Are you a servant of God, Father Mallory?” Nickolai asked.
The question was not rhetorical, and Nickolai used an earnest tone that was out of place in a voice that was a half-register away from a growl. Mallory nodded, “That is my calling, however weak an instrument I am. I’ve devoted my life to the service of God and the Church.”
“The Roman Catholic Church?”
“The Society of Jesus, to be precise.”
Nickolai looked away from him, as if he was considering something. After a moment he spoke. “Do you know of my faith, Father Mallory? The faith of St. Rajasthan?”
Mallory shook his head. “I studied many religions in my seminary training. But that isn’t familiar.”
“It is just as well. Rajasthan didn’t speak to the Fallen. I shouldn’t have come here.” He began an awkward turn to leave.
Something in his manner, something that came across as very human despite his origins, made Mallory reach out and touch the tiger’s shoulder. “What is troubling you?”
Nickolai pulled away and snarled at his touch. Mallory almost recoiled, but managed to restrain himself. Something serious was bothering Nickolai, and it was visible even through his predatory feline expression.
He faced Mallory, his cheeks wrinkled in apparent disgust. “Why should that concern you?”
“It’s part of my vocation.”
“I’m not human, nor part of your church.”
“My God preaches compassion,” Mallory said. “If you don’t wish to share your troubles, stay and tell me of St. Rajasthan.”
Nickolai’s expression softened slightly, and he lowered his gaze. “Do you wish to hear of your own damnation, Father Mallory? My God teaches that humanity has long ago left His grace.”
“My own faith tells me that I am a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. That we are all fallen, since the first man walked the Earth. And it is God’s mercy alone that allows us a chance at redemption.”
“God is not merciful, Father Mallory. He is cruel.”