Redshirts

“What?” Kerensky said, looking up at Finn.

“I think he means we should probably get going, sir,” Dahl said, smoothly.

“Right,” Kerensky said. “So, where are we going?”

* * *

“You two wait here,” Kerensky whispered at a bend in the corridor, after which came the distribution node they were sneaking up on. “I’ll surprise him and stun him, and then we’ll contact the captain.”

“We can’t contact him, we left our phones in the shuttle bay,” Finn said.

“And we should probably deactivate all the armed carts first,” Dahl said.

“Yes, yes,” Kerensky said, mildly irritated. “But first, I’ll take him down.”

“A fine plan,” Dahl said.

“We’re right behind you,” Finn said.

Kerensky nodded and readied his weapon, and then leapt out into the corridor, calling Jer Weston’s name. There was an exchange of pulse gun fire, each blast going wide. From the top of the corridor there was a shower of sparks as a pulse gun blast ricocheted through the duct work, which collapsed on Kerensky, pinning him. He groaned and passed out.

“He really is completely useless,” Finn said.

“What do you want to do now?” Dahl asked.

“I have a plan,” Finn said. “Come on.” He stood and walked forward, pulse gun behind his back. Dahl followed.

After a few steps the curve of the corridor revealed a disheveled Jer Weston, standing on the distribution node, pulse gun in hand, clearly considering whether or not to kill Kerensky.

“Hey, Jer,” Finn said, walking up to him. “It’s me, Finn.”

Weston squinted. “Finn? Seriously? Here?” He smiled. “Jesus, man. What are the odds?”

“I know!” Finn said, and then shot Weston with a stun pulse. Weston collapsed.

“That was your plan?” Dahl said a second later. “Hoping he’d pause in recognition before he shot you?”

“In retrospect, the plan has significant logistical issues,” Finn admitted. “On the other hand, it worked. You can’t argue with success.”

“Sure you can,” Dahl said, “when it’s based on stupidity.”

“Anyway, this makes my point to you,” Finn said. “If I was going to die on this mission, this probably would have been the moment, right? Me squaring off against my former fellow crew member? But I’m alive and he’s stunned and captured. So much for ‘the Narrative’ and dying at dramatically appropriate moments. I hope you take the lesson to heart.”

“Fine,” Dahl said. “Maybe I’ve been weirding myself out. I’m still not following you into battle anymore.”

“That’s probably wise,” Finn said, and then glanced over to the small computer at the distribution node, which Weston was probably using to control the cargo carts. “Why don’t you disable the killer carts and I’ll figure out how we’re going to get Jer out of here.”

“You could use a cart,” Dahl said, going to the computer.

“There’s an idea,” Finn said.

Dahl disabled the carts across the ship and then heard a groan from Kerensky’s direction. “Sounds like someone is up,” he said to Finn.

“I’m busy trussing Jer like a turkey,” Finn said. “Handle it, if you would.”

Dahl walked over to Kerensky, who was still pinned under duct work. “Morning, sir,” he said, to Kerensky.

“Did I get him?” Kerensky asked.

“Congratulations, sir,” Dahl said. “Your plan worked perfectly.”

“Excellent,” Kerensky said, and wheezed a bit as the debris on top of him compressed his lungs.

“Would you like some help with your duct work, sir?” Dahl asked.

“Please,” Kerensky said.

* * *

“There’s nothing in Crewman Weston’s file that indicates any sympathy for the Calendrian rebel cause,” said Sandra Bullington, captain of the Nantes. “I requested a hyperwaved report from the Dub U Investigative Service. Weston isn’t religious or political. He doesn’t even vote.”

Bullington, Abernathy, Q’eeng, Finn and Dahl stood in front of a windowed room in the brig, in which Jer Weston sat. He was confined to a stasis chair, which was itself the only piece of furniture in the room. He looked groggy but was smiling. Kerensky was in sick bay with bruised ribs.

“What about family and friends?” Q’eeng asked.

“Nothing there, either,” Bullington said. “He comes from a long line of Methodists from on the other side of the Dub U. None of his known associates have any link to Calendria or its religious or political struggles.”

Abernathy looked through the glass at Weston. “Has he explained himself at all?” he asked.

“No,” Bullington said. “That son of a bitch killed eighteen crew members and he won’t say why. So far he’s invoked his right to non-incrimination. But he says he’s willing to confess everything under one condition.”

“What’s that?” Abernathy said.

“That you’re the one he gets to confess to,” Bullington said.

“Why me?” Abernathy asked.

Bullington shrugged. “He wouldn’t say,” she said. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s because you’re the captain of the flagship of the fleet and your exploits are known through the Union. Maybe he just wants to be brought in by a celebrity.”

“Sir, I recommend against it,” Q’eeng said.

“We’ve had him physically searched,” Bullington said. “There’s nothing in his cavities, and even if there were, he’s in a stasis chair. He can’t move anything below his neck at the moment. If you stay out of biting range, you’ll be fine.”

“I still recommend against it,” Q’eeng said.

“It’s worth the risk to get to the bottom of this,” Abernathy said, and then looked over to Dahl and Finn. “I’ll have these two come in with me, armed. If something happens, I trust one of them will take him down.”

Q’eeng looked unhappy but didn’t say anything more.

Two minutes later Abernathy, Dahl and Finn came through the door. Weston smiled and addressed Finn.

“Finn, you shot me,” he said.

“Sorry,” Finn said.

“It’s all right,” Weston said. “I figured I would get shot. I just didn’t know it would be you who did it.”

“Captain Bullington said you were ready to confess, but that you wanted to confess to me,” Abernathy said. “I’m here.”

“Yes you are,” Weston said.

“Tell us what your relationship is with the Calendrian rebels,” Abernathy said.

“The who what now?” Weston said.

“The Calendrian rebels,” Abernathy repeated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Weston said.

“You fired on the pontifex’s ship after the Intrepid was disabled by the rebels,” Abernathy said. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe that the two were unrelated.”

“They are related,” Weston said. “Just not that way.”

“You’re wasting my time,” Abernathy said, and turned to go.

“Don’t you want to know what the connection is?” Weston asked.

“We know what the connection is,” Abernathy said. “It’s the Calendrian rebels.”

“No,” Weston said. “The connection is you.”

“What?” Abernathy said, squinting.

Weston turned to Finn. “Sorry you had to be here,” he said, and then started blinking one eye at a time, first two left, then three right, then one left, then three right.

“Bomb!” Finn yelled, and Dahl flung himself at the captain as Weston’s head exploded. Dahl felt the uniform and skin on his back fry in the heat as the blast wave pushed him into Abernathy, crushing the two of them against