Dogfighter Gospel
created by Damien Phoenix and Phoebe
this chapter by Kristen Smirnov

Log Two: Command Blues

	It would seem logical for news to travel quickly in space.  With
little but vast, uninterrupted stretches of nothingness for distances
still too vast for the human mind to fully comprehend, information
should be able to be disseminated throughout the galaxy with a minimum
of difficulty.  That is why Major Aaron Belles was in the middle of
berating his fleet liaison, hot coffee sloshing over onto his hand as he
swung his arms around dramatically.

	"Why the hell don't we know?"

	"The info just hasn't gotten back yet, sir, there may be something
slowing down the packets, or they could've gotten destroyed before the
auto-dump was activated..."

	"Right, and our engineers are a bunch of goddamn idiots who couldn't
find their asses with both hands and a lot of help.  I'm sure that's it.
Now, go find out why the we don't have any info, and don't come back
until you have some real answers for me."  The officer nodded crisply,
clicking his heels together before he spun on one to leave.  Aaron
watched him go, then sighed, shaking the coffee off his hand.

	This was a joke, it was a goddamn joke.  Only rumors had reached
Fleet HQ, and every one of them contradicted the ones prior.  Everyone
with ties to the Agamemnon was getting more on edge with every hour that
passed without solid confirmation of what had happened, himself
included.

	The soft, insistent beep of a waiting message wormed its way past
its eardrums, and he turned to glare at the console.  It seemed that
officers never had time for a stretch of uninterrupted grousing any
more.  "What, what, what?  Message through!"

	"Sir.  News on the Agamem-"

	"It's about damn time, go!"

	"...right, sir.  A flight recorder retrieved from a dead Mantis has
been analyzed.  It's spotty, but it's the best we've got."

	"Then look at another recorder.  SOP, yeah?"

	"No others could be recovered.  Only debris from the fighters
remained; it would appear that their recorders were either targeted or
removed."

	"Then the Agamemnon?"

	"Three were gone; the fourth was wiped in the engine explosion.  Its
casing was breached before the attack."

	Belles rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, groaning.  That
meant only one thing, and it wasn't anything an officer liked to
contemplate.  "Okay, what did you recover from the good box?"

	"Standard dogfighting action, nothing special.  It's all available
for your personal reference if you wish, sir."  There was a slight pause
as the soldier waited for an affirmative from Belles; receiving none,
she continued.  "What's odd is what happens at the tail of the fight.  A
mid-sized ship can be seen leaving the battlefield; referencing against
the ship register, we've identified it as the Gospel."

	Major Belles leaned back, trying to recall all he could about the
Gospel.  He took it as a point of pride to try and learn something about
all the ships stationed out of Cadence Point.  Captain... Ai?  Ai
something, newly assigned.  Hadn't proven himself on the front lines
yet, was just a decent second-stringer.  The rest of his crew manifest
would have to be checked.  His mind was already working through that
process to the inevitable conclusion... seeing which officers would be
branded as traitors.

	"Sir?"

	"Thank you, please send the visuals through to my office, and
that'll be all."  The thought came that perhaps it'd been an inside job
from the Agamemnon, but he quickly dismissed that.  Escape pods were
made of a very distinctive material, and it would've been noted if any
was found in the debris.  They also sent a signal that couldn't be
turned off without dismantling half the hull; a poor prospect when
flying through space.  And even if someone had slipped through, he
couldn't afford to ignore the Gospel.

	Major Belles rubbed his temples tiredly.  Trying to find word of the
ship at this point, let alone the Gospel herself, could take weeks. 
This had obviously been planned far in advance; the absence of recorders
proved that.  He had no doubt that whoever had masterminded the affair
had provided means to avoid detection.  He could throw dozens of people
onto the case, waste their time, and come up with nothing.

	Or he could use two.

	His mind was already clicking away as he brought up the dossiers on
the two in question.  Sending just two would probably be a suicide
mission, but that was fine so long as they did a bit of research first. 
In other words, they needed to be competent, but not anyone that would
cause Fleet to suffer from their loss.

	Belles wasn't a fool, nor an idealist.  He'd been suspecting for
some time that there was a weapons-dealing ring operating from the ships
at Cadence.  Perhaps Captain Ai... he frowned, reminding himself to look
that up.  Perhaps the Gospel's captain had been a part of it, and was
trying to make his escape.

	In any case, he suspected these two of belonging to it, as well. 
Nothing specific, just one of those gut feelings.  And people had been
wondering why the younger one was even in Fleet; her entry must have
been a special case.

	He typed up a brief message, then sent it down to the pair's
quarters.  One problem would be out of his hair in short order.  Try as
he might, he couldn't be more than a bit pleased with the prospect.

	With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair -- real leather, one of the
perks of wearing bars -- and stared at the ceiling.  It would take them
at least half an hour to be ready to depart, which meant that he had
time to think about traitors roaming the corridors of his station and
the rooms of the ships that docked there.  It was not a pleasant way to
spend the time before dinner.

*  *  *  *  *

	Forty minutes later, Belles fought back the urge to let his gaze
rest where it desperately wanted to as he walked into the hangar. 
Someone who could wear a Fleet flightsuit and make it look good was
rare; someone who could do so and was currently bent over a console,
greeting him with a view of her posterior, was a rare and pleasant
distraction.  Even if he did suspect her for a traitor.  He coughed into
his fist, keeping his gaze respectfully trained on the Whitehawk lineup
guarding one wall of the facility.

	The figure jumped, nearly sending herself over the top of the
console as she did.  She straightened and laughed weakly, scratching the
back of her head with a spanner.  Belles swallowed, hoping she'd
remembered to turn it off.  As her hair didn't instantly burst into
flames, he assumed she had.

	"I assume you got my message, St. Claire?"

	Kassidy St. Claire nodded, and gave a highly non-standard thumbs-up
in reply.  Her wild mane of blonde hair, complete with its ever-present
crimson streak, flounced around her shoulders as she swiveled towards
the Whitehawks.  The words came in a slow, lilting drawl, a marked
contract with the rapid and assured nature of her motions.  "Been tuning
up Louise since I got the word, chief.  Be ready to take her out in just
a few."

	"And Tong?"

	"Jiang'll be around any time.  She keeps Thelma in top shape, no
need to worry about that.  Probably grabbing one last slice of cake in
the commissary before we take off.  Dunno how she does it, eats like a
horse and stays the size of my little finger.  Not fair, is it?"

	At the stream of words flowed over him, Aaron blinked and nodded. 
"Err, no, not fair at all.  Thelma?"

	"Oh, don't start on me, too.  Ji thinks they're stupid names, but I
like it.  Has a better ring than Maria and Candace, right?"  At Belles'
blank stare, Kassidy rolled her eyes.  "Don't you ever watch movies? The
second can't be more than sixty years old..."

	He smiled thinly.  "I tend to spend most of my time with Fleet
business.  Don't you?"

	The hint was not taken.  "Geez, sir, live a little!  Not getting any
younger, right?"

	Belles scowled, aware that his chocolate brown features were topped
by a crown of silver hair.  "Don't make me regret choosing you for this
mission, St. Claire."

	"Right, sir.  Sorry, sir.  I'll make you proud of me and will do my
very best, sir!"

	The soft whirring of Belles' teeth grinding was her reply.  He
willed himself to calmness, reminding himself that her insubordinate
nature wouldn't be a problem for much longer.  A soft noise from behind
him drew his attention, and he turned to see Private Tong Jiang dropping
her duffel off her shoulder.  She saluted smartly, and he nodded.

	"All ready to go, sir.  I've been talking with some of my contacts,
and I think I may have some leads on where to look for the Gospel."

	He nodded again, slowly.  Contacts, indeed.  Only logical for a
profiteer to have contacts all throughout the sector.  She seemed too
young, both to be a traitor to her organization and to be leaving on a
suicide mission.  Black hair, cut short, ended in a row of curls around
the nape of her neck.  It was unlikely the curls were there by design,
but natural or not, it made her look like a little girl, playing in her
pilot mommy's flightsuit.

	"Then we're free to go?"

	"You're cleared for departure, St. Claire.  Remember, your primary
goal is to gather information on the Gospel's whereabouts.  I'm not
sending you out there to try and bring her in yourself."  As they
saluted -- Tong crisply, St. Claire with a casual grace -- Belles
allowed himself a smile.  He did get, he admitted with a tone of
self-congratulation, more than the occasional good idea.

*  *  *  *  *

	"I heard she's a Grey," Ayako smugly announced.

	"Oh really, a Grey, huh?" Jacob replied, quirking an eyebrow at the
reference to the special ops division's nickname.  "And who exactly did
you hear that from?"

	"I heard it around," she airily explained, waving her hand in a
circle.

	"Around from the captain, or around from Nadia herself?"

	"Fine."  Ayako crossed her arms and scowled.  "Just trying to liven
things up a little, and who are we going to gossip about with real
information, right?"

	"Nobody?" Jacob offered with a smile.  "Pass me that, would you? 
No, the one next to i- yeah, that's the one.  Thanks."  Taking the tool,
he wriggled his body between the console panels, resting up against the
bulkhead.  "This doesn't look too bad; I should be able to get this up
to about 80%..."

	"That's great!  We'll certainly be able to contact a military
channel with that signal strength, right?"

	"...if we had the items currently missing from the storeroom."

	"And I assume that's not great?" Ayako sighed, hopping up onto a
non-functioning console.  "What are we talking about, here?  Do you need
full replacements, or can you work with components?"

	"I'm making notes as I go; the list is up on the monitor above my...
well, above my butt."

	Ayako peered at the screen in question, her face growing darker as
she read the list of needed items.  "There's some rare stuff here. 
Don't think we'll be able to find all of it at outposts like Hard Rock."

	Jacob pulled himself out and hopped to his feet, wiping a smudge of
soot off his face.  "And even if we find a supplier, getting the money
for 'em might be tricky.  I tried raiding the escape pod radios --
figured we could all fit into one pod, if it came to that -- but there
was a slight problem there."

	"Which is?"

	"All the escape pods are gone."

	Ayako's mouth dropped.  "Gone?" she squealed.  "How in the world did
they pull that off?"  A small smile was her reply, and she replied with
an abashed one.  "I guess you wouldn't really know, would you?"  She
sighed, folding her arms across her chest.  "So what do we do now?"

	"I guess we talk to the captain."

*  *  *  *  *

	The soft puff of escaping gas was quickly silenced as the airlock
seal opened.  The stream crystallized as it was drawn out into the
vacuum, forecasting the movement of the twin Whitehawks.  Two streaks of
titanium polymer alloy left the base, their Fleet markings the only
color on their chalky forms.  The oversized fuel tanks and weapons bins
in their rears made for an unbalanced, heavy-bottomed look, the engines
hanging low under the stubby wings barely able to stabilize the craft. 
Stabilize them visually, that was; in space, the distribution of weight
mattered not, and all the extra weight meant was that Kassidy and Jiang
were sitting inside two of the most overpowered, overdriven, and
undershielded crafts in the Fleet.

	Neither of them was flying a Whitehawk by accident.

	Most of the pilots at Cadence thought Whitehawks were a hell of a
lot to fun to fly during skirmishes, suicide machines on extended
missions.  That was only true, so the duo's thinking went, if you let
yourself get hit.

	Kassidy flipped a switch above her head, starting her transmission
as soon as the red light blinked on.  "So, where're we headed?"

	"Hard Rock," came the lilting soprano across the comm link.  "Lovely
way to start a mission."

	"I'll buy you a beer, Ji."

	"You know I don't drink during missions. ...Believe me this time?"

	Kassidy grinned.  "Not a chance.  Hell, let's make it a pitcher."

	"You're a terrible influence, Kass."

	Kassidy's grin grew, and she kicked up her engines.  Jiang's ship
quickly matched her speed, and the two darted towards Hard Rock, Kass'
laughter filling both ships.

*  *  *  *  *

	"Probability: point oh-oh-nine-seven."

	"Increase time for simulation by five percent and restart."  As the
computer went back to work, Nadia tapped one rounded fingernail on the
edge of the station.  

	Again, the simulation failed.  Nadia allowed herself a slight frown
as she inspected the calculations.  She'd given the maximum time that
could have been taken during the battle to remove the accoutrements and
weaponry, and it still was impossible.

	With a sigh, she raised the number of crewmen involved, and reran
the sim.  Such was her military way of thinking that she found it
preferable to think of her former crewmates as having been thrown into
the vacuum by the traitors, or left to float in the corridors, their
insides exposed to the filtered air, rather than having them been the
turncoats themselves.  She scowled at the results, no longer trying to
control her expression.  Fully half of the crew, and it still failed.

	Sixty percent, two hundred and forty officers.  Ten point oh-two
chance of success.  And forty-five; thirty point nine.  Fifty; ninety
eight point oh-six.  That was it, then.  Two hundred and fifty crewmen
on the Gospel had been traitors.  Such a nice round number.

	It was an unpleasant reality.  She doubted, though, that the problem
had been so widespread on any of the other ships in the battle.  Such a
high percentage on one ship lead her to instead believe that this had
been planned by the circle of traitors, as a means to make their escape
from Fleet undetected.  It was, she admitted grudgingly, a successful
one.  She doubted anyone would be able to track them.

	Their grand escape, though, had left the four of them in a bit of a
predicament.  Hardly surprising, though; scum like them certainly
wouldn't care about anything except their profiteering.  The word made
her sick.  Which government had they sold their take to, or which
terrorist group?  What problems would arise because of their selfish
natures?

	In a smooth motion, Nadia stood, collected her notes and data chip
and headed for the bridge.  It was doubtful the captain would like
hearing the facts any more than she had.

*  *  *  *  *

	Cliches always have a basis in reality.  As such, Kassidy and Jiang
found themselves the focus of several dozen pairs of eyes as they
stepped through the doorway of one of the seedier bars they'd found on
Hard Rock.  All conversation stopped as the newcomers made their
entrance, replaced by appraising glares.

	"So, which one of you fellows wants to buy me a drink?" Kassidy
chirped, plastering a wide smile on her face.  Jiang tried to match the
expression, with limited success.

	"You can have one for free if you explain why two girls like you are
here," the bartender slurred.

	"Pretty ones?"

	"Fleet ones."

	Kassidy mock-pouted.  "Oh.  Well, despite that silver tongue of
yours, I'll be happy to share.  Has there been any word of a ship
blasting its way out of port, named Gospel?  Would've been... oh, two,
three days ago?"

	"Maybe."

	One blonde eyebrow raised.  "That's... really helpful, thanks.  Ji,
chat up some of the other guys here while I work on this fellow?"  She
smiled at her partner, then rested one elbow on the counter, leaning in
towards the barkeep conspiratorially.  "Well, if there was a ship, and
if it had Fleet markings, there's a bounty offered for it.  A big one."

	The expected reaction from the barkeep -- namely, anything -- failed
to occur.  Instead, he continued polishing a glass with a grayed rag,
whistling a nameless tune through a craggy-toothed mouth.  Kassidy
cleared her throat.  "I said, a big bounty.  Hello?"

	"I heard about the bounty.  But 'big' ain't close."

	Thinking fast, she explained, "That's because we're the ones letting
people know about the real amount.  If it's a Fleet ship, then they'd be
able to break in on our channels when we broadcast the word, right?  And
then they'd know they really had to watch out for themselves!  So that's
why you didn't hear about it from the police!"

	Her gaze was finally met, and the greasy man snorted thickly. 
"You're real dumb, girl.  Fleet trains their people better before they
ship 'em out on missions like this."

	"Hey," Kassidy muttered, frowning.  "You don't believe me?"

	Her answer was a shrill, piercing whistle.  The barkeep retrieved
his fingers from his mouth and motioned someone over, a string of
spittle dripping off his middle finger as he did.  Kass pursued her lips
in distaste.  "'Ey, Brown!  Bring over the other 'Fleet' bitch, we've
got some... business to discuss."

	"Hey!" Kass repeated sharply, whipping around to meet the brute of a
man who was lugging Jiang towards her.  "What the hell do you think
you're doing?"

	"Two girls barely out of the Academy, who walk into a place like
this unguarded, and try to pass off a story that even the greenest
spacer here wouldn't buy?  You sound like you just stepped out of a New
Orleans whorehouse, and she looks like the perfect little China doll. 
Unless things on Earth have changed since I last checked, you-" he
pointed at Kass, "are at war with her."  

	"I'm Fleet," Jiang avowed with a steely tone.

	"Nah.  I don't know what you're really here for, but I don't think
either of you are Fleet.  But I do think you'd make me some good money
working upstairs."  He leaned forward; his breath smelled like week-old
porkfat.  "And I don't think anyone's gonna come looking for you."

	Kass swallowed hard, and acted without giving herself time to waver.
 "No fair trying to keep the money all to yourself, pal!" she spoke at a
level loud enough to be heard throughout the bar.  "I bet some of the
other guys here would like a shot at it!"

	The sound of two dozen chairs scraping against the ground was her
answer.  Kassidy smirked at the fuming man in front of her, ignoring his
mutterings about how she would regret that. 

	"Trying to hide something from us?" was repeated a multitude of ways
from the patrons, some less politely than others.  The barkeep's
attention was now firmly held by his ardent denials of trying to
withhold a possible bounty.

	A swagger was in Kass' step as she strode away from the bar, swaying
into the crowd of spacers.  They watched her intently, greed painting
their faces with a hard, desperate look.  "Like I was telling your
friend there, we're looking for the Gospel.  There's a reward for it...
intact, please, if we have to put together a puzzle, you're not getting
anything.  But it'll be worth your while... remember the... er..."  She
paused, casting to the back of her brain for a sizable bounty. 
"Remember the Tigris?"

	There was an appreciative whistle from several of the spacers.

	"Kass..." Jiang muttered softly, looking around at the bar's
occupants.  "What are you talking about?"

	"Just smile and nod, alright?"  Raising her voice to its previous
levels, Kassidy continued.  "Just send any info you have over channel
XB-107, identify yourself, and you'll be duly rewarded!  I mean, if you
can't trust Fleet, who can you trust, right?"

	There was a long pause.  Kassidy eked out, "...right.  Okay, we'll
just be on our way, now, gotta get back in space and get our radios up! 
We're your contacts, after all, wanna make sure we don't get tied up
here in Hard Rock!"  She placed her hand on Jiang's shoulders and guided
her out of the bar, ignoring the pale, wide-eyed expression on her
partner's face.

	Only when they were safely -- comparatively, anyways -- on the
street did Kassidy slow enough for Jiang to break in with a question. 
"What the hell did you do?"

	Nothing like the direct approach, Kass mused.  "Look, now we've got
all those guys looking for the Gospel too.  You may be a whiz with
tracking, Ji, but we're gonna need more than just the two of us to find
that ship."

	Jiang sighed.  "Suppose you have a point, but this seems like a
really bad way to go about it.  What happens when we don't have the
extra money for them?"

	"Who says we'll be around when they try to collect?"  Kassidy
grinned, her teeth flashing white against her deep tan.  "C'mon, let's
get back to Thelma and Louise."

	"You do know that sounds ridiculous, right?"

	"We're two Fleet officers trying to track down a ship full of
traitors based on the hearsay of drunken spacers.  I think we can use a
little ridiculous."

*  *  *  *  *

	In the bar, two men looked at each other and smiled.  "Payback time
for the Fleet bitch, looks like," Sep said with a smirk.  "Wipe that
smug little look off her face and bring in enough to live on for a
year."

	The other man who'd faced down Nadia and Jacob nodded.  "'Swhat we
get from clean living.  Good things to those who wait."  Kaz rubbed his
bruised temple, swearing.  "I still have a headache.  Let's get into
space, that always helps.  The air on these outposts is always like
breathing straight from an exhaust pipe."

	"First... I need a drink."  Sep leaned back, ignoring the general
clamor in the bar.  They could afford to wait, they had an in on the
situation.  And he planned to use it.

*  *  *  *  *

	"Cap- er, Kenji, I've got a status report."

	The lean man swiveled in his chair to face the newcomers, a pleasant
expression on his face.  "Wonderful, I'm glad to see what a fine job
we're doing of running this ship with a skeleton crew.  What's the
word?"  In the back of his mind, he knew his smile looked strained, the
corner of his eyes tight with stress.  It rested on his shoulders,
though, to keep the crew -- what little there was of it -- moving ahead.


	"There's no way I'll be able to repair the com system up to the
point where we can transmit messages without acquiring replacement
parts."

	Kenji frowned.  "What all are we talking about, here?"

	Jacob opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Nadia's clipped
tones.  "Sir, I have completed my calculations."

	The man in question cleared his throat.

	"...Kenji, I have completed my calculations."

	"And?"  His voice was warm and approving, in contrast to Nadia's
cold facade.  He was determined to use that same voice whenever speaking
to her, until she finally dropped the ice queen act.  A smile on that
gorgeous face would truly be something to see.

	"Two fifty."

	"Two hundred and...?!" Kenji sputtered in response.  His voice was
no longer warm and approving.

	"What?" Ayako asked, looking between the two of them.

	Kenji rubbed his face with his hands and sighed.  "Heath?"  His
forced informality fell away with the bad news; no one seemed to notice.

	Jacob handed over the notepad, a grim expression his answer. 
Flipping through the results did little to help the captain's mood, and
his face grew darker.  "There's no affordable source of some of this
for... farther than we're supplied for, anyways."

	Seeing her spot, Ayako popped in, "We have enough food for about a
week, and this-" she brought up a map of the local area, a red circle
centered on the blinking light that was the Gospel overlaid on it, "-is
our fuel range."

	Nadia looked up from her new spot at Kenji's shoulder, where she'd
been looking over the list of needed supplies.  She walked over to the
map, leaning in to inspect it closely; a satisfied look crossed her
face, and she stabbed at the screen with her finger.  "There."

	"You're not serious," Kenji stated flatly.  "That outpost is
off-limits to all Fleet officers."

	"Section five, paragraph B, line eight.  'In the case of unforeseen
and unavoidable fuel or ration shortages, ships may put in at
Orange-Level outposts, planets, and stations for as long as is needed to
obtain such supplies without disciplinary action for the crewmembers
involved.'"

	He sighed.  Already past Yellow, at Hard Rock, and they were
already talking about going to Orange.  He sincerely hoped they weren't
forced to put in at a Red before this was all over; he liked his head
where it rested on his shoulders.  "Heath, lay in a course for
Holliday."

	Ayako stared at him with that adorable, wide-eyed expression he'd
seen on her quite frequently since she'd come aboard his ship.  "Will...
can we get components there?"

	At least she had her mind on the big picture.  "I guess we'll see." 
So long as they got communications back, though, whatever means
necessary to do so would be justified.  They had to let command know
about the traitors who'd been aboard his ship, and who'd in all
likelihood contributed to the destruction of the Agamemnon.  A note
skittered across the back of his brain; he snagged it amongst the rest
of the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm even his trained officer's
mind.  They needed to find concrete evidence of the traitors; it
wouldn't do Fleet any good if they couldn't learn anything about those
who had defected from their ranks.  That was really the most important
thing to do regarding this.

	He had faith in the system.  All they had to do was show what had
happened, and they'd be believed.  Anyone who thought otherwise wasn't
protecting themselves from supposed naivete; no, they simply weren't
trusting Fleet.  And that he found unacceptable.  People inside of Fleet
might be fallible, but the organization itself didn't make mistakes.

	Captain Kenji Aino had complete faith that he would be believed.

-End Log Two-


Author's Notes:

	Boy, real life is terribly inconsiderate of impro obligations.  It
kept the writing from being as polished as I would've liked, but I think
I managed to get the plot points I wanted to hit.  I wanted to give the
Gospel crew a distinct path to follow (find replacement parts, not die),
and intro some solid antagonists (Belles, St. Claire, and Tong). 
Between those three (although I imagine Belles is more the type to stay
in the background, and only be pulled out when he's needed) and the
slimy nature of Kaz and Sep, Our Heroes will never suffer for a foe to
face.  And I suppose with a second part, plot is more important than
pretty writing.  ... I hope. ^_^;

	Thanks to Phoebe for helping me come up with plot ideas and
prereading.  And good luck to Working Title, wai!

-Kristen