Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 2 - 0330 Zulu

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Script

46A INT. TIGER CLAW - PILOTS MESS. A SHORT WHILE LATER

The scotch has loosened things up considerably, and Blair
and Maniac seemed to have been welcomed into the fold.


MANIAC looks at the chess game Forbes and Polanski are
playing.


MANIAC
(to Forbes)
Take his pony with your castle.


POLANSKI
We call them a 'knight' and a 'rook.'


MANIAC
You're kidding me, that's what you call
them?


FORBES looks at the board - damn if he isn't right. She
looks up at MANIAC who winks. SHE moves the 'pony' and
captures the rook.


FORBES
Check.


POLANSKI
Where?


MANIAC
Mate.


POLANSKI
Damn. That's cheatin'.


FORBES looks Maniac straight in the eye.


FORBES
So there's a brain behind that
mouth?


MANIAC flashes a trade-mark smile -- big and charming
smile.


SHE gets up, heads towards Blair and the bottle.


BLAIR looks up at her -- he's leaning back on a chair
with his hands in his pockets. HUNTER, sits silent, sips
his Scotch.


MANIAC grabs the bottle and pours FORBES a drink.


FORBES (Cont'd)
Your friend always this talkative?


MANIAC
He just made the fatal error of
mistaking Cmdr. Deveraux for your
average grease monkey.


She bends down to Blair's level. Blair smiles.


FORBES shoots out her hand and GRABS BLAIR BY THE
BALLS. His hands are trapped in his pockets.


FORBES
Feels like they are still there.


Pilots laugh. She squeezes a little tighter. Blair
squirms.


FORBES
If Lt. Commander Deveraux was really
pissed....Well -- you'd be
testicularly challenged, Lieutenant.


BLAIR
(taken aback)
All I did was sit in Lt. Commander
Chen's fighter.


Nature and quality of the environment changes. Smiles,
save lair's and Maniac's disappear. Some pilots look
away. HUNTER Looks up from his scotch.


HUNTER
Who?


BLAIR
Lt. Commander Chen. Bossman.


HUNTER
Bossman? Anybody here know a Bossman?


Lots of "No"s and "Never heard of him."


BLAIR
What's with you people?


HUNTER downs his Scotch, puts the glass down.


KNIGHT, big, black, friendly face, tries to intervene.


KNIGHT
Leave it alone, Blair.


BLAIR
Leave what alone?


KNIGHT shakes his head.


HUNTER
You're asking after a man who never
existed, nugget.


BLAIR
(digging in)
I'm pretty sure he did.


HUNTER's up in the instant, pushes Blair hard in the
chest, gets right in Blair's face.


HUNTER
He never existed. Now, I suggest you
change the subject, or I'll change it
for you.


MANIAC steps up behind Hunter.


MANIAC
You have a problem with my friend...
Hunter.


HUNTER
Yeah, I do.


MANIAC
Then you have a problem with me.


HUNTER turns to face Maniac.


HUNTER
Oh yeah, well you're going to love
this--


Hunter spins and grabs Blair by the shirt and pulls
him up -- -- Maniac grabs Hunter from behind --
Polanski rushes forward. Blair's shirt rips open --
suddenly Blair's Pilgrim's cross flops out so that
everyone can see it.


HUNTER (Cont'd)
He's a Pilgrim!


Hunter lets go of Blair like he's a live wire.


Everyone in the mess, including Maniac notices the
cross. The jovial air is gone. Several of the Pilots
stand up.


FORBES
Excuse me?


DEVERAUX (O.S.)


You ladies don't stand down, you're
going to have a problem with me.


All heads turn to ANGEL DEVERAUX. Blair slides the cross
under his torn shirt.


DEVERAUX (CONT"D)
I want an explanation, Hunter?


HUNTER looks at Angel. Before HUNTER can answer, BLAIR
cuts in.


BLAIR
Hunter and the others were just making
Lieutenants Marshall and me feel at
home, Ma'am.


DEVERAUX turns to Blair. The look on her face says
volumes. SHE looks at HUNTER.


DEVERAUX
Lieutenant?


HUNTER
That's right Lieutenant, ma'am.


BLAIR
(to Deveraux)
There you see, ma'am -- I guess this
conversation "never existed."


BLAIR exits.

46B INT. TIGER CLAW - CORRIDOR

BLAIR walks down the corridor, pissed.


DEVERAUX
(sternly)
Lieutenant.


BLAIR stops, his back to Angel.


DEVERAUX (CONT'D)
I need to know that you have your
priorities straight. Who the hell do
you think you are?


BLAIR
I'm a fighter pilot on a capital ship
in a war zone, ma'am.


DEVERAUX
Right. Which means you're nothing.
You're a pawn in somebody else's game.
We get ten, twelve replacements a month
-- as fast as the Academy can spit out
spare parts.


BLAIR
(pissy)
Well that really installs confidence
Commander


Deveraux gets right in Blair's face.


DEVERAUX
(too harsh)
Let me give you a Reality check -- in
all likelihood, you're going to die out
here -- we all are -- What none of us
needs to be is reminded of that fact --
so, you die, you never existed.
Understood?


BLAIR
Yes ma'am.


DEVERAUX
Good. Cause that's the only sensitivity
training speech I can remember. Now
move on.


SHE walks away. MERLIN appears by Blair's shoulder:


MERLIN
She's kind of attractive when she's
mad.


BLAIR looks at the hologram.


MERLIN (Cont'd)
Hey, I'm a hologram, I'm not blind.

46C INT. CHART ROOM - TIGER CLAW

SANSKY looks at a holographic projection of the Charybdis
Quasar sector. On it, we see forty red dots heading for
the Quasar. Behind the quasar, a single yellow line
leads to a floating Earth. GERALD stands behind him,
looks at Paladin.


SANSKY
I know of you Taggart, but I'm afraid I
don't know you. Yet you come to me
with classified orders from Admiral
Tolwyn.


PALADIN
And you don't trust me, Blair, or the
disc.


SANSKY turns to face Paladin.


SANSKY
Would you?


PALADIN
...No.


SANSKY nods to the hologram.


SANSKY
This tactical schematic outlines a
nightmare, Mr. Taggart. It tells me
that the Kilrathi may have a NAVCOM,
and with it, the capacity to jump into
Earth space. Based on that nightmare,
it orders me to take radical action
that, if it and you are a lie, could
compromise this ship and its crew.
Both of which are unacceptable. Before
I put my command in harms way, I must
be certain that you and the orders you
bear are legitimate. So I ask you, Mr.
Taggart, what proof do you have that
this is authentic?


PALADIN reaches into his vest, slowly pulls a ring from
his pocket. tosses it to Sansky. SANSKY catches it,
reacts.


CLOSE ON: Tolwyn's ring held in Sansky's cupped hand.
Inscription on it reads: "Annapolis Naval Academy,
1941." Slowly, Sansky's hand closes around the ring.


SANSKY
How did you get this?


PALADIN
Tolwyn gave it to me eight months ago.
He thought it might be useful if I ever
had to convince a Captain to follow his
orders.


SANSKY
(ponders, a difficult
decision)
...Con, plot a course for the Charybdis
Quasar, full speed.


OBUTU
Sir, nearest jump point to Charybdis is
four days hard travel from our current
location.


PALADIN
There's a class two pulsar eleven hours
from here. We can jump there.


OBUTU
Not on the charts, sir. NAVCOM does
not have those coordinates.


PALADIN looks at Sansky.


PALADIN
I have them.


GERALD
No one's jumped a pulsar for forty
years. And even then, they were
Pilgrims.


SANSKY
...I don't believe we have a great deal
of choice, MR. Gerald. If the battle
is to be decided in Charybdis, then we
have to be there.
(To Paladin:)
Plot your course.


PALADIN nods, heads for the navigation station.


GERALD
Sir, that ring means nothing--


SANSKY
That ring has been in Tolwyn's family
for sixteen generations. Any man who
carries it has the Admiral's full
confidence. And we have our orders.
Prepare for the jump.

Novelization

CHAPTER 8

UNITED
CONFEDERATION
CARRIER TIGER CLAW
MARCH 16, 2654
0330 HOURS
ZULU TIME
VEGA SECTOR
ENYO SYSTEM


Riding a warm wave of Scotch toward an imaginary shoreline, Blair
settled down into a chair and watched Forbes and Polanski play another
chess game. Marshall, the bottle still clutched in his hand, wandered over
to observe the competition. The youngest of four sons, Marshall had grown
up in a competitive household where his older siblings had constantly
challenged him to meet their unrealistic standards—not that Marshall had
ever volunteered this information. Blair had deduced this after meeting
and spending time with Marshall's brothers. Never had he encountered a
more demanding, ill-tempered, hard-core bunch of military brats. Two of
them still flew for their father, Boomer Marshall, a retired Marine pilot
who owned a charter service on Leto. Thanks to his father, Marshall had
entered the academy with more logged flight hours than any other cadet,
and he had made sure that no one ever forgot that fact. Despite his
constant boasting, Marshall's experience had actually come to great use
during a training exercise in which he and Blair had discovered a Kilrathi
destroyer hidden in the Hilthros system's nebula. With Marshall's fearless
flying to counterbalance Blair's by-the-book combat tactics, the two
managed to destroy the ship, which had already penetrated Confederation
counterintelligence measures and had nearly gained access to highly
classified data regarding fleet positions and strength.
But to look at Marshall now, you'd never think he was capable of such a
feat. He could barely stand as he drew closer to the chess game. "Take his
pony with your castle," he told Forbes, then took a swig from the bottle.
Polanski belched in Marshall's direction, then said, "We call them a
knight and a rook."
"You're kidding me. That's what you call them?"
As she studied the board, a grin seized Forbes's face. She regarded
Marshall, her eyes saying thanks.
Marshall winked.
She moved her "castle" and captured Polanski's "pony." Then she folded
her arms over her chest. "Check."
Drawing back his head, Polanski stared incredulously at the board.
"Where?"
"Mate," Marshall said.
"Damn," Polanski said in realization. "That's cheatin'."
Forbes gave Marshall a penetrating stare. "So there's a brain behind
that mouth?"
Marshall flashed one of his trademark smiles, the kind that sometimes
made women swoon and always made men, especially pilots, ball their
hands into fists. He poured her another drink, and she stood. For a
second, her gaze met Blair's, and he turned away, unconsciously jamming
his hands in his pockets.
"Your friend always this talkative?" she asked Marshall.
"He just made the fatal error of mistaking Commander Deveraux for
your average grease monkey."
She circled to face Blair and bent down to his level. Then her hand shot
out, and she grabbed his crotch. He went to push her away, but found his
hands trapped in his pockets.
"Feels like they're still here," she said.
St. John, who had been sitting quietly beside Blair, chuckled with the
other pilots.
Forbes squeezed a little harder. Blair squirmed and finally wrestled her
off.
"If Commander Deveraux was really pissed," Forbes said with a
knowing grin, "well, you'd be testicularly challenged, Lieutenant."
Bringing his legs together and silently swearing over the pain, Blair
forced himself deeper into the seat as he realized that every gaze in the
room had found him. "All I did was sit in Lieutenant Commander Chen's
fighter."
Smiles faded. Polanski shifted away.
Captain St. John looked up from his Scotch. "Who?"
"Lieutenant Commander Chen. Bossman."
The cigar came out. "Bossman? Anybody here know a Bossman?"
"No," someone said.
"Never heard of him," someone else added.
Shooting to his feet so quickly that he knocked over his chair, Blair
said, "What's with you people?" The indifference in their faces infuriated
him. Was this how they regarded their fallen comrades?
A burly black man with a widow's peak and a nametag that read
Khumalo moved to Blair, his expression calm, his voice nearly a whisper.
"Leave it alone, Blair."
"Leave what alone?"
St. John sniggered. "You're asking after a man who never existed,
nugget."
"I'm pretty sure he did."
It all happened in a moment as blurry as Scylla. One nanosecond St.
John sat before his drink, the next he stood and pushed Blair hard in the
chest. "He never existed," St. John corrected. "Now, I suggest you change
the subject. Or I'll change it for you."
Marshall threaded his way through the other pilots and came up
behind St. John. "You have a problem with my friend, Hunter?"
"That's right. I do."
"Then you have a problem with me."
St. John whirled around. "Oh, yeah? You're going to love this—"
Expecting St. John to rush Marshall, Blair tensed, preparing to leap on
the man's back.
But the pilot whirled back to him, grabbed his shirt, and drove him
into the bulkhead.
Marshall employed Blair's original strategy and leapt on St. John's
back, slinging an arm under the man's chin.
Likewise, Polanski slipped his arm around Marshall's neck and began
prying Marshall away.
As St. John's hands got yanked back, Blair's shirt tore open to expose
his cross.
"He's a Pilgrim!" St. John cried, then released Blair, who had suddenly
become a live wire.
Everyone in the mess stared at the cross. Marshall cursed and pounded
the bulkhead. The pilots closest to the hatch shifted back, blocking the
exit.
Forbes elbowed her way through the others to get a closer look at the
pariah named Christopher Blair. "Excuse me?"
"If you ladies don't stand down, you're going to have a problem with
me." Blair knew who had said that, but he couldn't see her past the others.
Good. She also couldn't see him. Exploiting his temporary cover, he slid
his cross beneath his shirt as the pilots snapped to attention.
"I want an explanation. Hunter?"
But before the man could answer, Blair hurried forward to address
Lieutenant Commander Deveraux. "Hunter and the others were just
making Lieutenant Marshall and me feel at home, ma'am."
She stared dubiously at him, then at St. John. "Lieutenant?"
The captain gave Blair a slight glance and said, "Uh, that's right,
Lieutenant, ma'am."
Blair couldn't hide his contempt for her, for all of them. "There, you see,
ma'am? I guess this conversation never existed." He bolted through the
open hatch.
Out in the corridor, Blair charged toward a pair of green-suited
munitions techs, who immediately shifted to the bulkhead, allowing him
to pass. I hate this place.
"Lieutenant?" Deveraux called sternly.
He stopped but wouldn't turn around, listening to her approach.
"I need to know that you have your priorities straight. Who the hell do
you think you are?"
"I'm a fighter pilot on a capital ship in a war zone, ma'am. Which part
confuses you?"
"Oh, I'm clear on you now, Lieutenant. You're a pawn in somebody
else's game. We get ten, twelve replacements a month—as fast as the
academy can spit out spare parts."
"Well, that really instills confidence, Commander."
She crossed in front of him, her runaway temper darkening her cheeks.
"Let me give you a reality check. In all likelihood you're going to die out
there—we all are. We don't need that reminder. So. You die, you never
existed. Understood?"
Resigned to her illogic, Blair dropped his gaze. "Yes, ma'am.
Understood."
"Good. 'Cause that's the only sensitivity training speech I can
remember. Now. Carry on." She strode away.
Merlin abruptly activated to walk on air near Blair's shoulder. "She's
kind of attractive when she's mad."
Blair made a face.
"Hey, I'm a hologram. I'm not blind."
* * *
In the dimly lit and silent chart room, Captain Sansky looked up to
consider the group of red dots on the ghostly tactical schematic that
Lieutenant Commander Obutu had pulled up for him. Those holographic
dots moved toward the broad limbs of the Charybdis Quasar. Behind the
quasar, a single yellow line unfurled toward a floating Earth.
Sansky knew his orders, knew very well the role he would play, but a
deep-rooted feeling of hesitancy returned. Commander Gerald doubted
the authenticity of the message. And now he had little faith in Sansky's
decision to feel out Taggart before committing to the mission. Gerald's
second-guessing could become unmanageable if the crew got word of it.
Though Gerald kept a tight rein on his people, they deeply respected his
authority, evident in the many official and unofficial service awards they
had given him. Sansky would simply have to wait and see. But the game
turned his stomach sour.
The hatch opened, and Gerald stepped inside. Captain James Taggart
followed, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "Captain Sansky. From one
captain to another—never wake up a tired sailor unless we're talking
life-or-death situation."
"Then let's talk, Mr. Taggart."
Moving beneath the holograph, Taggart stared at the Kilrathi battle
group arrowing toward the quasar. "They're in a hurry," he muttered.
"I know of you, Taggart, but I'm afraid I don't know you. You're a
civilian captain flying a requisitioned transport, yet you come to me with
classified orders from Admiral Tolwyn."
Taggart smirked. "And you don't trust me, Blair, or the disc."
"Would you?"
"No."
Sansky nodded to the holograph. "This tactical schematic outlines a
nightmare, Mr. Taggart. It tells me that the Kilrathi have a NAVCOM, and
with it, the capacity to jump into Earth space. Based on that nightmare, I
must take radical action that, if it and you are a lie, could compromise
this ship, her crew, and Earth—all of which are unacceptable. Before I put
my command in harm's way, I must be certain that you and the orders
you bear are legitimate." Sansky reached into his breast pocket and
produced the decoded disc. "So, I ask you, Mr. Taggart, what proof do you
have that this is authentic?"
Taggart reached into his inner vest pocket and withdrew a small, shiny
object. He tossed it to Sansky, who caught and quickly examined it.
Between his fingers rested a gold class ring, its surfaces worn, its emerald
dull. Sansky held it to the holograph's light and read the inscription:
Annapolis Naval Academy, 1941. He closed his now-trembling hand over
the ring and stared incredulously at Taggart. "How did you get this?"
"Tolwyn gave it to me eight months ago. He thought it might be useful
in situations like getting a captain to follow his orders."
Gerald crossed to Sansky and gestured to see the ring. Sansky handed it
to him, then turned to the intercom. "Con. Plot a course for the Charybdis
Quasar, full speed."
Lieutenant Commander Obutu shifted from the tactical schematic
console to read the navigator's coordinates on another screen. Obutu, an
earnest black man, tough as titanium, with a thick brow and a face that
seemed regularly haunted by a past of which he would not speak,
remained a comfort and a mystery to Sansky. As the lieutenant
commander further surveyed the screen, a query creased his face. "Sir, the
nearest jump point to Charybdis is four days hard travel from our present
position. How are we supposed to get there in time?"
"There's a Class Two pulsar eleven hours from here," Taggart said. "We
can jump there."
Obutu began a rapid-fire sequence of key commands, then looked to
Sansky. "Not on the charts, sir. NAVCOM does not have those
coordinates."
"I have them," Taggart said, stepping between Sansky and Obutu.
"No one's jumped a pulsar for forty years," Gerald pointed out, eyeing
Taggart with disdain. "And even then, they were Pilgrims."
"I don't believe we have a great deal of choice, Mr. Gerald," Sansky fired
back. "If the battle is to be decided at Charybdis, then we have to be
there." He regarded Taggart. "Plot your course."
With a nod, Taggart headed for a navigation subterminal.
Swearing under his breath, Gerald watched Taggart plug numbers into
the computer for a moment, then moved close to Sansky, out of Taggart's
earshot. "Sir. This ring means nothing." He returned the antique to
Sansky. "You shouldn't—"
"This ring has been in Tolwyn's family for sixteen generations. Any man
who carries it has the admiral's full confidence."
"If it's real—which it may not be—then I can't believe Tolwyn gave it to
a civilian."
"Believe it. He's done it before. This is the ring. And you have your
orders. Prepare for jump."
As Gerald saluted and left, Sansky watched Taggart, wishing he could
see past the man's mysteries. Sansky kept his own secrets carefully stowed,
but he guessed that Taggart's cache far exceeded his. So be it. Life had
become far more interesting. And dangerous.