“Yes.” Zhdanov said, gesturing to the electronic notebook files on his desk. “The top two hundred Earth Bases, the Moon Base, the Mars Academy, and the Titan Defense Base are sending one or two pilots each to be trained for the special mission. Oh, and I forgot,” he added, slapping the side of his head. “Space Station Gabriel is sending down their top pilot Behrman today, and the undersea Pacific Institute already sent Mason, their best. Some of the spaceships have already sent home their selections, but the shuttles won’t be arriving for a few more days. Anyway, we’ll be able to form several new squadrons out of the arrivals.”
“They’ll all receive new uniforms and ranks, I hear.” Cheung said, then coughed. “Otherwise I imagine it would be difficult to recognize members of the same team–if they’re all wearing something different.”
“Dawe has already got the new uniforms ready.” Zhdanov laced his fingers together, thumbs tucked under his chin, and tapped his hands against his lips.
“So soon?” Cheung said in surprise. “I do agree with the idea, though.” Cheung nodded. “Though I must admit at first I found it rather odd. The Discovery should have its own uniform, and what could be better than replicating the uniform of her native crew?”
“Well, it’s not an exact replica, I’m afraid.” Zhdanov sighed, evidently disappointed. “The UESF couldn’t recreate the function of the boots, but we did manage the pressure systems. And our new diamondfiber and carbon-sixty materials are inferior to the alien creations, but they’ll just have to do.”
“Say, what happened to all of the personal effects we discovered while clearing out the rooms for the crew?” Cheung asked a moment later, his eyebrows furrowing. “When I left for the Ural Base, Knightwood said you were going to store it here in one of the cargo bays. Did you decide what to do with it all?”
Zhdanov shook his head. “When we took inventory, we counted just over four hundred superior quality uniforms of the type the Blue Stripes Sky Hawks found–at least they were of similar design and material, though from what I can guess there must have been three different ranks distinguished by different colors. Most of them were silver-blue like the one we found first, but there were some others that were white or black.” Zhdanov swallowed.
“But then we found several others after you left,” he continued, “about a hundred or so maroon and grey colored suits of a different material, and several hundred dark blue and gold flightsuits of roughly the same material as the maroon ones but a different design.”
“Really?” Cheung said; he hadn’t yet heard about the latest discoveries.
“Yes.” Zhdanov nodded. “The UESF thinks they must have been the pilots’ uniforms, while the others were restricted to officers. Anyway, that was how we were planning to solve the problem of forming new squadrons. We were hoping to use them in time to distinguish the squadrons, putting our own personnel into three main groups, but the replicas aren’t finished yet. The latest kinds were a little easier to copy, though they seem to have several of the same functions as the first uniform–except the boots are not as complicated.”
“Well, that should be okay, since we couldn’t recreate the first pair, anyway.” Cheung laughed.
“Exactly.” Zhdanov agreed, then coughed to clear his throat. “Knightwood thinks we might use most of the uniforms, preserving a few for further study.”
“You sure that’s wise–to use them?” Cheung’s brows raised with skepticism.
“I am a bit anxious about all of this myself.” Zhdanov admitted. “But they’ve passed inspection. And by God, they fit us! Our aliens weren’t so different in size than us, at all.”
“What about all of the documents and pictures?” Cheung asked.
“We’ve finished scanning them, and they’ll be returned to the Discovery.”
“You’re returning them to the ship?” Cheung echoed, with a hint of confusion.
“Yes,” Zhdanov replied. “We’ve created a storage space out of one of the rooms. We’re going to set them up for display and allow the new crew a chance to learn about the creatures who created the ship.”
“Hmm,” Cheung considered the decision, then nodded slowly. “What about the Charon aliens? Isn’t a conference about them in the offing?”
“Yes, I don’t think we’re going to be able to keep them a secret.” Zhdanov shook his head. “Some of the pilots have already spread stories. Apparently, some say they caught glimpses of the enemy pilots as their ships blew apart and have identified the creatures as humanoid.”
“Well, there have always been stories, ever since the first Charon mission.” Cheung said, wondering why everyone had dismissed them until Arnaud’s infiltration unit proved them right. “But–returning to the artifacts, has anyone made progress in deciphering the alien script?”
“Dr. Odegaard from the Hellie Base has been working on it, but she hasn’t had much success.” Zhdanov shrugged, feeling suddenly tired. “Only a few others have even touched it, and I don’t blame them. I tried to figure it out myself and spent days sitting here staring at the symbols until I thought I would go blind. Dr. Nishiyama in Yokohama has just started his analysis, but he hasn’t spoken to me since last week.”
“Any luck in removing the creature specimens yet?” Cheung wondered.
“No. They’re grounded solidly, and our best lasers aren’t working. Anything else and I’m afraid we’ll destroy the specimens inside and not just the casings.”
“What a shame.” Cheung sighed. “I was hoping for one of those big furry things to keep, you know, the ones with the curved claws.”
“Well, there’s always room on board for you.” Zhdanov said persuasively, a gleam now in his eye. “That way you can examine them as much as you like. Knightwood’s insisting we stay on board at all times with the crew in case anything happens–I don’t need to tell you with what. We don’t have enough scientists willing to join them yet.”
“Well, I’ll consider it but–that place makes me nervous.” Cheung shivered, wondering why Zhdanov seemed so unaffected. It wasn’t like him at all to be secretive about his feelings among his friends. “I don’t like all of those sealed rooms, either–it makes me wonder what things have been buried there, what might still be there. I’m not sure we should be delving into it all, poking our noses into everything.”
“Hmmm.”
* * * * *
Only a few days after the Blue Stripes Sky Hawks returned home to the UESRC, Arnaud called a meeting of the Discovery candidates in the East Wing Cargo Bay. Nearly three thousand pilots, officers, and scientists filled the area once the fighter planes had been removed to the West Wing.
Erin Mathieson-Blair had been visiting her life-long friend Coline Brasseau-Arnaud when the intercom sounded, calling all of the new arrivals together. Coline lamented that she’d give nearly anything to join them on their mission, but she had only just begun her last year of training. Even if Arnaud was her father, there was nothing she could do to get transferred to the Discovery.
Erin hugged Coline with fierce affection, grudging the lack of time for a sufficient good-bye. She found it impossible to say all of the things she wished to; words could only fail to convey her unhappiness about these necessary partings. As Erin rushed away, Coline, who was now threatening to become as bold and brash as her father more every day, almost laughed at her friend’s unusual sentimentality today. That Erin! She was acting as though they would never see each other again!
In the cargo bay, Erin’s squadron was gathering. Thirteen members of Arnaud’s infiltration unit had accepted their new positions among the UESRC’s Blue Stripes after a short leave; Erin spotted the team near the North Wall and recognized her former squadron leader and friend, Major Watanabe, introducing herself to the new recruits. Although W was no longer their commander, having been assigned a first year team of new Blue Stripes Sky Hawks, she had been invited to the meeting on this, her new squadron’s day off-duty.
“Glad to see you made it back,” W said to Eri
n when she had joined them. Erin exchanged glances with Ho-ling and Erik. Each of them knew when W was trying to be cheerful; no doubt the news about the casualties in the recent battle had reached her. As Ho-ling finished making introductions for W, Erin glanced around the room and recognized some of the other squadrons from the Stargazer; one of the pilots saw her and waved.
“So, how are the new Blue Stripes?” Erik asked a moment later, as the infiltration unit and former Blue Stripes made small talk; many of the Blue Stripes knew some of the infiltration unit already, having met them on occasion during the six-month mission to Charon. “Surely none of them are as good as us, though.” He laughed.
“Well, let’s say no one could replace you, Erik,” W responded with her typical jocularity, and the group laughed. “Just try to remember who’s in charge now and then.” Again there was laughter.
“I will,” Erik promised, laughing just as hard as the others.
“It’s no wonder,” Lieutenant Ricna observed, “that the Blue Stripes made it through the alien ship the first time with a squadron leader like you, Major Watanabe.”
W was not accustomed to blushing–false modesty, yes. “Oh, now you’ve made me blush,” she drawled, pretending to be embarrassed by the compliment, and the group laughed again.
At that moment, Dawe, Hollander, and Kaplan appeared on a platform that had been set up just within the closed cargo bay doors.
“Good afternoon and welcome.” Sullivan Dawe began, calling for attention, bringing the conversations to a close. He was a stocky, barrel-chested man with a gruff, booming voice and a round face, tough and uncompromising in nature.
“All of you have been drawn here for a mission of the utmost importance, though as yet it has been necessary to keep it secret.” Dawe continued. “Now is the time to unveil that secret. I’m sure you are all aware of the most recent battle of the Stargazer out at the Charon front. What many of you may not have heard is that this operation was merely a front which we used to allow a secret infiltration squadron to breach the alien ship and examine it from within.”
Whispers started across the room. Erik hated it when the top UESRC officers made announcements like this, causing the squadrons to feel unnecessary anticipation when there was no need to worry.
Ahead, Dawe grew silent, and Orrin Hollander, former Security chief of the UESRC, took over. Hollendar was a tall, regal black man with the features of a long-distance runner even as he approached fifty; Hollendar’s mind was even quicker than his body, and his efficient, driven behavior earned him the nickname “the man with a mission”. Very little was known among the cadets about his personal character, except that Hollendar’s temper was slow to ignite, and that he was fair-minded and reasonable.
“Although they were discovered before they were able to cause any damage within the enemy ship or to the aliens’ capabilities,” Hollendar began in his gravely voice, “Arnaud’s infiltration unit used its superior training and skill to escape the ship and bring us back valuable information and vidigital footage of the interior of the vessel. Armed with this knowledge, the top scientists, officers, and council members of the UESF have devised a new mission, one that might successfully protect the Earth and bring the battle out to Charon for good.” Hollander paused significantly while the company waited, not moving a muscle, seeming hardly to breathe.
Captain Roy Kaplan, a dark-haired man with strong features, quick eyes, and a cheerful disposition, stepped forward as Hollendar tried to quiet the emerging whispers; at the moment, his attitude was strikingly serious.
“When the other teams arrive from space, they will all be briefed by Dr. Knightwood, Dr. Zhdanov, and Dr. Cheung, but I expect all of you to help answer their questions as well.” Kaplan said, glancing about the assembly. “However, time is short, and we feel it necessary to begin the training of those who are already here. In just a few minutes, we will all be departing in transport shuttles to sector eight, where the new space vessel Discovery awaits its new crew.”
Everyone was aware of the significance of sector eight, the site where the alien ship had been discovered intact after being buried under tons of rock.
“Discovery,” Ho-ling muttered, staring blankly at the other Blue Stripes. Though their mission guidelines had been presented in a vague and secretive manner, the enormity of it was not lost on anyone.
“They’re not planning on using the other ship, are they?” Watanabe could hardly believe what she had heard, and she was not alone.
The stunned company spoke in more subdued and apprehensive tones while they waited for the shuttles to appear. The noise died down to a dull droning when the cargo bay doors were elevated about ten minutes later to bring in the shuttle transports.
One by one the squadrons were loaded on board the shuttles, and finally the Blue Stripes wished Major Watanabe one last good-bye.
Chapter Three
“Hey, Kusao, what are you doing here?” Erik Ross’ voice rang through the crowd. Several shuttles from the UESRC had just landed outside the giant dark navy spaceship Discovery. Already a dozen or so other shuttles from the many UESF bases waited outside the entrance to the Discovery’s Great Cargo Bay, and several hundred officers from the squadrons had gathered outside the ship in the chill afternoon air.
A few steps away from the Blue Stripes Sky Hawks squadron, at the edge of the crowd, a grey-clad Japanese lieutenant of medium height turned his head in the direction of the approaching voice. Katsuo Kusao was wiry and quick, with bright black eyes. He was charismatic by nature, jovial, intelligent, and something of a prankster, yet he could also become a hothead when pushed to the limits of his patience or on any occasion of injustice, whether reported to him or one that he had personally witnessed.
Not that he was particularly pious, or terribly polite, however; in his own country, he often felt the pressure to be more polite, but he also bridled to act according to his true nature. He was simply far too independent and stubborn to go out of his way to be polite. He was, nevertheless, quite considerate when it most mattered, not merely for propriety’s sake, but because he cared about the feelings of others around him. He despised hypocrisy and acted according to the impulses that moved him from moment to moment; he tended to be unconditionally loyal, even when loyalty to a guilty party might get him into trouble. He was, however, used to getting himself out of trouble–since he had managed often enough to find trouble on his own.
“Good to see you again, Ross,” Kusao laughed, extending a hand to Erik, and the two shook hands. The two had become friends in the three months returning from space aboard the Stargazer, but had gone their separate ways after the debriefing and during their short leave. “Where are the others?”
“Over there,” Erik motioned over his shoulder, where the Blue Stripe Sky Hawk squadron was disembarking from their shuttle. “Come on, this’ll be some reunion.” Erik laughed and clapped Kusao on the back, then led him to the grounded shuttle where the Blue Stripes, including the new additions from Arnaud’s infiltration unit, waited.
“So, when did you all meet up?” Kusao asked.
“The rest of our old team arrived at the UESRC a few days ago after our leave ended. When I saw you at the last debriefing, I thought you were going to join the Blue Stripes. You’re the only one who disappeared.” Erik shrugged.
“I know.” Kusao admitted. “The UESRC suddenly transferred me to the Nezumiiro squadron from Yokohama. I thought I was being sent home for good, but–it turned out the Nezumiiro squadron had been chosen for duty on the Discovery. They told me the team requested a liaison from the infiltration unit, so that was why I was transferred.”
“Kusao!” Grayson exclaimed as he and Erik joined the group.
“Where’ve you been?” Ricna huffed, folding arms across her chest.
“Well, you know how these things are,” Kusao shrugged. “But I thought about you all the time,” he said, laughing.
“Sure you did,” Ricna rejoined sarcastically, but her tone was a
ffectionate.
“I knew you wouldn’t be left behind,” Charbonneau added, slapping Kusao on the back.
“Well, that’s more than I knew for a while there,” Kusao returned, only a hint of a Japanese accent coming through in his English.
“It’s good to see you again, Kusao.”
“I’d recognize that voice anywhere,” Kusao said, turning around halfway to where Erin stood. “Hello, my little nightingale,” he laughed, bowing slightly.
“Nightingale?” Erin asked, confused, little wrinkles forming between her eyes. Kusao nodded, smiling, then mussed the top of her hair.
“Can’t think of a name that suits you more. Every time I hear your voice, it reminds me of singing.” Kusao said. “I missed you, too, Erin.”
“Good bloody grief.” Erik said, only half in jest, while the others moved on to other conversations; Erik was aware that Kusao’s undeniable charm had more to do with his manner than his choice of words. Kusao could be talking about obtuse weather patterns or the migration of bird species, and people would still pay attention to him. Erik had never before met another man so much like himself, so naturally able to charm others, and so of course petty jealousy reared its head on occasion, their friendship notwithstanding.
“You don’t agree with me?” Kusao challenged, with equal mirth.
“Kusao–” Erin began to protest.
“There you see.” Kusao declared, as though that single musical word were proof enough.
“I didn’t say I didn’t agree with you,” Erik responded. “Only I take exception to the claim you made. Who ever said Erin was yours?”
“Oh,” a collective, aghast murmur hummed around them.
“I think the air just dropped a few degrees around here,” Einar whispered behind them, laughing among the former Blue Stripes, perfectly aware that neither Erik nor Kusao were really serious, or at least they were only about halfway.
“I’m not cold,” Nikolai said, shaking his head in disagreement.
“Of course you wouldn’t be cold,” Hans agreed. “But then, coming from Siberia–”