Wing Commander in Real Time - Day 3 - 0300 Zulu

Script

94 INT. TIGER CLAW - VARIOUS STATIONS - MONTAGE

As officers, pilots and crew listen to the intercom.

SANSKY (V.O.)

(over intercom)

This is the Captain. AS most of you

have guessed, we just made one hell of

a jump.

Rodriguez kisses his St. Christopher...

SANSKY (CONT"D)

Actually we've just taken a little

short cut into the Ulysses Corridor...

If you don't already know, that's where

the Pegasus Naval Base was attacked and

destroyed. The main Kilrathi battle

fleet is in the Quadrant and headed for

the Charybdis Quasar. In eleven hours,

it will be in position to jump into

Earth space.Our mission is to find the Kilrathi,

asses their capacities and plan of

action, and if necessary, stop them.

Maniac and Forbes look at each other. Action!

SANSKY (CONT'D)

We're the only Confed ship in the

sector, people. We can count on no

help and no rescue. We can only count

on each other. That is all.

94A EXT. CONCORDIA BATTLE GROUP - DEEP SPACE

The Concordia, bracketed by other CONFED ships, races

through space.

SUPERIMPOSE: CONCORDIA BATTLE GROUP, MARCH 17TH, 0400

ZULU TIME. 12 HOURS FROM EARTH.

94B INT. CONCORDIA - BRIDGE

TOLWYN looks out the window at fast moving space.

BELLEGARDE approaches from behind.

BELLEGARDE

Message from Earth Command, sir. Their

defenses are on line but--

TOLWYN

They don't believe they can withstand a

Kilrathi battle group without the

support of the fleet.

BELLEGARDE

No sir. But they will fight. Earth

will never surrender.

TOLWYN

Surrender? That's not an option with

the Kilrathi. They believe themselves

to be the supreme race above all

others. The rest of us are just here to

do one thing.

BELLEGARDE

What's that?

TOLWYN

To die.

(Turns to face Bellegarde.)

Our status?

BELLEGARDE

We're running at 110 percent. We've

already lost three ships. Two at jump

points, one's reactor core melted down.

TOLWYN

Run at 120.

94C INT. TIGER CLAW - FLIGHT DECK

BLAIR and DEVERAUX, in full flight suits, helmets in

hand, walk together down the flight line. IN front of

them are TWO FULLY ARMED Rapiers.

BLAIR

Any standard operating procedure I

should know about?

DEVERAUX

No SOP out here. There's only one rule.

BLAIR

Don't get killed?

DEVERAUX

Don't get me killed.

As SHE walks towards her Rapier, we see the markings on

the side of the fighter: twenty-six kills. The same as

Bossman.

BLAIR

Twenty-six. Jesus.

DEVERAUX

That puts me ahead of the law of

averages. Well ahead. The curve'll

catch up to me sooner or later.

SHE motions to the Rapier next to hers. From it's BURN

MARKS and NUMBERING we recognize it as Lt. Cmdr Chen's

old fighter. The ground crew has painted LT. BLAIR on the

side.

DEVERAUX (CONT'D)

Your bird, Blair. Treat her well.

BLAIR

She's all mine.

DEVERAUX

And she'll probably be someone elses.

Mount up. The clock is ticking.

94D EXT. DEEP SPACE - CHARYBDIS SECTOR

Two pin points of light pass by a deserted planet, the

light from a nearby brown dwarf star throws it into half

light, half shadow -- they resolve into the two Rapiers.

The Rapiers head for an asteroid field circling the brown

dwarf.

As the Rapiers approach the asteroid field, we see,

scattered amidst the rocks and ice, pieces of metal.

94E INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - BLAIR

Blair scans his "heads up" display. On it, we see a

digitized tactical schematic of the environment.

Hanging around his neck, OUTSIDE of his flight suit, is

his Pilgrim cross. HE reacts to an odd shaped object

spinning towards him.

BLAIR's POV: A big, twisted and burned piece of metal

spins by him. Painted on the side is "CONFEDERATION

STATION PEGASUS."

94F INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - BLAIR

Stunned, he watches the piece of metal spin by.

BLAIR

Angel. Did you catch that? That's from

Pegasus.

95G INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - DEVERAUX

Shaking her head.

DEVERAUX

Concussion must have blown pieces of

the station all over the sector.

Her tactical display chirps. On her radar, we see a

blip, another, then they disappear.

DEVERAUX

Pipe down. I'm getting something....

Suddenly, six blips appear on her radar. They're headed

for the Rapiers.

DEVERAUX (CONT'D)

Radio silence. And get into the asteroids, now. Low power.

SC. 95-102 OMIT

103 EXT. ASTEROID BELT & BROWN DWARF - WIDE SHOT

At the edge of the asteroid field and far below, a brown

draw star glows dimply. A large Kilrathi Communications

Ship is cruising up from the surface of the brown dwarf

toward the asteroid belt. The two Rapiers, engines off,

are shielded behind two large asteroids, a few hundred

yards apart.

104 INT. RAPIER COCKPIT - BLAIR

Blair is sweating, now, scanning his instruments.

BLAIR

My scanners are blind, Merlin. Talk to

me.

MERLIN's voice only:

104 CONTINUED:

MERLIN

Crosstalk between a large Kilrathi

vessel and the brown dwarf down there.

Can't decipher the code.

BLAIR

They know we're here?

MERLIN

Possibly. From the sophistication of

the equipment on board, I'd say the

vessel is a Command and Communications

module.

BLAIR

So what is it commanding?

MERLIN

At least six other ships down near the

brown dwarf are communicating with

it.... Interesting. I'm picking up an

ULF -- Ultra Low Frequency signal. The

Rapier's scanners aren't equipped to

receive or detect it.

BLAIR

But you are?

MERLIN

Don't tell me you've down-loaded my

"sarcasm" program?

BLAIR

(ignoring him)

What's it mean? This frequency?

MERLIN

It's a primitive pulse technology,

ultra low frequency. Very slow, but it

carries over extreme distances. Sort of

like tom toms. Pilgrims used it in the

war.

BLAIR

How do you know? You told me you

didn't know anything about the

Pilgrims?

Merlin is taken by surprise.

MERLIN

I -- I don't know how I know it -- I

just do. Perhaps it's buried in my sub-

operating memory. Left over from the

war. Maybe it's intuition.

BLAIR

Intuition?

(scary thought)

Well do you have a direction?

MERLIN

It appears to be coming from quadrant

thirty.

BLAIR

That's near the Tiger Claw? What's it

saying?

MERLIN

The code isn't in my vocabulary.

(detecting something)

They're scanning the rocks.

BLAIR

Merlin off.

We can almost feel the pulse of energy passing over Blair

as the Kilrathi ship scans the rocks.

Storyboards

• 

Novelization

CHAPTER 14

CONCORDIA BATTLE GROUP

MARCH 17, 2654 0300 HOURS ZULU TIME

12 HOURS FROM EARTH

The stars, once distinct points of light, had shifted into a swirling eddy

of glistening claw marks. Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn sat at an observation

console, pondering those marks and what lay beyond them. He imagined

the future, imagined his battle group arriving in Earth space two hours

too late. The once-blue planet had grown dark. Kilrathi bio-missiles

exploding in her atmosphere had whipped up thick clouds of a toxin that

would descend upon her citizenry for several months, killing the millions

who couldn't make it to shelters and decimating all flora and fauna. It

would take several millennia for the planet to recover. Tolwyn smote a fist

on the console. Two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes. The irony

had worn into a deep-rooted sense of helplessness and frustration that had

turned his dreams to nightmares.

Someone approached from behind, and Tolwyn considered turning

around, but he recognized the tentative footsteps. "What is it,

Commodore?"

"Message from Earth Command, sir. Their defenses are on line, but—"

"They don't believe they can withstand a Kilrathi battle group without

fleet support."

"No, sir. But they will fight. Earth will never surrender."

"Surrender? That's not an option with the Kilrathi. They believe they're

the supreme race. The rest of us are just here to do one thing."

"What's that?"

Tolwyn snickered. "To die." He swiveled his chair to take in Bellegarde's

somber countenance. "Our status?"

"We're still running at one hundred and ten percent. But we've already

lost three ships, two at jump points, one from a reactor meltdown."

"Run at one-twenty."

"We'll lose more of the battle group."

"One-twenty, Commodore."

"One-twenty. Aye-aye, sir."

Tolwyn leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "Before you

go, Richard, have you had time to consider, well, how should I put this…

your past?"

The commodore thought a moment, then said, "As you know, sir, I've

been busy."

"Do you feel somehow put out because we're rushing to save a planet

that doesn't concern you?"

"Earth represents a valuable commodity to the Confederation, sir. Its

strategic importance—"

"But as you said, you have no ties to the planet, no desire to recognize

your ancestry. I thought we came from the same generation. I thought we

placed some value on our history, -our heritage."

"We do, sir. We just go about it differently. If that makes you feel

uncomfortable—"

"I don't question your loyalty. I question your identity. Who are you?"

"Sir?"

"Tell me who you are."

"Bellegarde, Richard. Commodore. Terran Confederation—"

"No, Richard. That's all grandeur and bullshit. You were born in the

Eddings system, Vega sector. But you can trace your ancestry back to

Earth, to Scotland."

"I can do that, sir. But I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"I'd just rather not."

"I'm sorry, Richard. But I order you to tell me why you would rather

not."

The commodore set his jaw, turned away, about to leave, then stopped.

"My ancestors were thieves, murderers, and rapists. We took the name

Bellegarde after systematically exterminating an entire family in order to

gain their power and wealth. We assumed their identities through surgery

and legal maneuvering, and continue to live a centuries-old lie. It was an

amazing feat. And a tragic one." He gathered the courage to face Tolwyn.

"Do you have any idea how many people died because of my family? Some

of us were assassins who went off-world, found more of the original

Bellegardes, and killed them, too. We didn't stop until every last one was

dead."

That gave Tolwyn pause. He appreciated Bellegarde's forthrightness

and now felt guilty over ordering the man to confess. "You had no control

over what happened. We deal with the past we've been handed. It's in the

dealing that our true identities are born."

"Or we bury the past, sir. Bury it very deeply. If Earth burns, maybe

that's not such a bad thing. Terrible people have come from that place."

Tolwyn unclasped his hands and stretched. "Well, Richard. This has

been a very enlightening conversation."

"If I'm nothing else, sir, I'm honest."

"I appreciate that. Now I'd like you to return to your quarters, flush

your liquor, and send mail to your mistress, breaking it off. Then you'll be

honest. Dismissed."

Utter shock gripped Bellegarde's face. Then he shook it off and saluted.

"Yes, sir." He fled the bridge.

Shifting his chair back toward the viewport, Tolwyn wondered whether

he had crossed the line with Bellegarde. Of course he had. But no simple

tongue-lashing from him would solve Bellegarde's problems. In a few

weeks, Richard would return to his mistress and his bottle. Despite that,

Tolwyn sensed that within the commodore lay one of the Confederation's

greatest officers.

Or one of its greatest traitors.

* * *

With a drumming heart and shaky hands, Blair zipped up his scarlet

flight suit, concealing his cross. He removed the helmet from his locker,

tucked it under his arm, and bolted out of his quarters.

Lieutenant Commander Deveraux had chosen him to be on her wing for

the recon, and the surprise of her decision wouldn't leave Blair any time

soon. She could have chosen a far more experienced pilot like St. John or

Khumalo, but she had opted for him. Blair doubted that she actually

trusted him, so her choice posed a mystery that he decided to solve by

going to the source. When he got the hangar, he would simply ask her.

He elbowed his way into the crowded lift and waited impatiently for the

doors to close.

"Hey, Blair. Where are you going?" Maniac stood at the back of the lift,

his face a red globe of sweat.

"Better question. Where have you been?"

"They're testing out a new Zero-G wataerobics pool. Thought I'd kill

time and volunteer as guinea pig."

"So how was it?"

"It's still got problems. Threw me around pretty hard, but as you know,

I'm the master of recoveries. Rosie got pretty sick, though."

"Who?"

"Rosie. Forbes."

"Oh, Rosie. Just be careful."

Maniac chuckled. "Can't help you there, Ace."

When he arrived on the flight deck, Blair found Deveraux standing near

the lift doors, waiting for him. She gave a curt nod and turned toward the

Rapiers. Blair crossed in front of her to check her wound.

"Would you cut that out?" she said, flustered by his concern.

"Sorry. I think it'll heal okay. I don't want you to have a scar."

"Too late. I've cornered the market on those. C'mon."

They walked down the flight line, past a row of Broadsword bombers.

Scores of techs stood atop, below, or beside the bombers, some in the blue

glow of torches, some on rolling ladders, all wreathed in the fumes of fuel

and heated metal. The flight crews would never run out of work because

every time they fixed a fighter, some pilot would take it out and get shot

up again. Were Blair among them, he would find the job exceedingly

aggravating and probably voice that feeling to the pilot who had ruined

his work. Consequently, Blair wholeheartedly respected these people who

pushed the rock of their repairs up an endless mountain.

"Any standard operating procedure I should know about?" Blair asked

as they neared the first line of Rapiers.

"No SOP out here," Deveraux said. "There's only one rule."

"Don't get killed?"

"Don't get me killed." She broke off toward one of two fully armed

Rapiers, their short wings slightly bowing under the weight of Dumb-fire,

Spiculum IR, and Pilum Friend or Foe missiles locked to over- or

underwing hardpoints.

Blair followed her, taking a closer look at her fighter. He noted her call

sign: "Angel."

But that hardly surprised him.

The many rows of kill marks shortened his breath. He counted them.

"Twenty-six. Jesus."

"That puts me ahead of the law of averages," she said, mounting her

cockpit ladder. "Well ahead. The curve'll catch up to me sooner or later."

She tipped her head toward the Rapier next to hers. "Your bird, Blair.

Treat her well."

Only then did Blair recognize the Rapier's number: thirty-five. They

had given him Bossman's old fighter. Chen's name had been removed,

along with his kill marks. The yellow paint used to stencil LT.

CHRISTOPHER BLAIR below the cockpit seemed too new, too perfect

against the Rapier's battered armor.

Although he had never known Vince Chen, he felt a tinge of guilt over

taking the man's fighter, as though he were desecrating Chen's memory.

But he shouldn't feel that way. Taking the fighter out again would be in

tribute to Bossman's life, to what he held most dear. If Chen were like

most pilots, he would want it that way.

Blair gently touched the mighty nose cannon. "She's all mine," he told

Deveraux, beaming.

"And she'll probably be someone else's. Mount up. The clock is ticking."

"One more question. Why me for this recon?"

"Why not?"

"Yeah," he said, only half-buying her reply. "Why not." He jogged up the

ladder and lowered himself into the pit.

Once tight in his harness, he ran though the preflight check.

Meanwhile, ground crews below made their final walkarounds of both

fighters, running scanners and their own gazes over every seal and

double-checking the loadout. Blair threw a pair of toggles, powering up

the thrusters, as Deveraux did the same. The engines purred and made

Blair feel as though he were flexing his muscles. He slipped on his headset,

helmet, and O2 mask, then dialed up Deveraux's comm channel. "Maverick

to Angel. Comm check. Roger."

"Comm established," she replied, flashing him a thumbs-up on the left

VDU. "Lieutenant, your call sign is Maverick? Where'd you get that? From

some old movie?"

"Actually, ma'am, it's been a standing joke for a while now. Back at the

academy, I had a rep for being a by-the-book flyer. So, of course, they

called me Maverick. And yeah, I did see that old movie. They flew those

big, heavy atmospheric fighters. Must've been fun back then."

"We'll never know," she said curtly. "All moorings are clear. External

power disengaged. Internal systems nominal, roger."

"Roger. I'm fully detached and ninety-five into the sequence," Blair

said, reading his panels.

The deckmaster waved Deveraux toward her launch position.

Her Rapier ascended several meters, then floated forward as the

landing skids folded into the fighter's belly. She lined up with the runway

and the shining energy field beyond.

"Lieutenant Commander, you are cleared to launch," Blair heard the

flight boss tell Deveraux.

"Roger, Boss. See you on the flip." She punctuated her sentence with a

blast of thrusters that cast Blair's Rapier in a tawny sheen. Like a finned

bullet, she blew out of the hangar.

"All right, Lieutenant. Let's see if you remember how to do this," the

flight boss said tiredly.

Without a word, Blair took his Rapier into a hover and, following the

deckmaster's signals, lined up for launch. He would perform a textbook

takeoff that would shut the boss's mouth.

"That looks good, young man," the boss said, as though inspecting

Blair's coloring book. "You're all clear."

Throttling up to exactly eighty percent thruster power (the textbook's

suggestion), Blair tore off toward the energy field, bulkheads whirring by,

the stars clouded by what looked like a wall of water. The Rapier

shimmied as he passed through the field and burst into open space. He

climbed away from the Tiger Claw, accelerating to full throttle, then

flicked his gaze to the radar display, finding the blue blip of Deveraux's

fighter. He banked sharply to form on her wing. With his free hand, he

unzipped his flight suit, dug out his Pilgrim cross, and gave it a squeeze

for luck. A signal from Deveraux lit up his right display: KEEP RADIO

SILENCE.

Ahead lay a small, rocky world, draped in shadow and orbiting a

distant and dimly burning brown dwarf star. Blair targeted the planet,

and data spilled across his right display. Officially catalogued as Planetoid

SX34B5, it bore an uncanny similarity in both appearance and

composition to Earth's moon. Blair targeted the brown dwarf and quickly

scanned the information on the star's size, age, and something about it

not having enough mass to convert hydrogen into helium via nuclear

fusion. He stopped reading when the data became too technical but still

felt satisfied with his cursory inspection. Some pilots like Maniac flew into

the unknown relying only on their eyes. Blair had been taught that a

physical understanding of his combat environment would allow him to use

it as an ally, not an obstacle.

He switched his targeting cross-hairs to a field of asteroids encircling

the brown dwarf. Jagged chunks of ice-covered rock tumbled slowly and

occasionally collided with others to emit spates of smaller rubble.

Deveraux's Rapier jumped a little ahead of his, and Blair noted the cue.

They would move into and sweep the field. He slid over the Heads Up

Display viewer on his helmet, then, with one eye, studied the digitized

tactical schematic. Dozens of reticles singled out targets, outlined them,

and flashed, then sensors gave him an instant report of their position.

Green lines formed into a glide path through the thousands of spinning

rocks.

But not all of the debris appeared natural. Shiny objects began peeking

out from behind the rocks, objects that became more distinct—pieces of

dürasteel shredded like paper.

A particularly huge plate, twisted and scorched, spun by his canopy. He

recoiled a little as he spotted the letters ASUS painted near its edge.

"Angel? Did you catch that? That's from Pegasus."

She appeared on his left display. "You just broke radio silence,

Lieutenant."

"I'm sorry. I just—"

"Forget it." She shook her head, then looked up, taking in more of the

asteroid field. "Concussion must've blown pieces of the station all over the

sector." Her tactical computer chirped.

Blair's computer answered with a chirp of its own. A blip flashed across

his radar, then another, then both disappeared. "I just picked up multiple

contacts, bearing—"

"Pipe down. I'm getting something…"

And Blair spotted them, too: six blips burning brightly in his radar,

headed directly for their position.

"Angel—"

"Radio silence. And let's get deeper into this field. Low power. We'll see

if we can wait 'em out."

"Roger."

She dove ahead, following the digitized glide path through the

asteroids. Blair kept tight on her six o'clock until she veered sixty degrees

to port and settled in the lee of an oblong-shaped rock nearly one hundred

meters long. Blair raced by her, finding cover of his own below a similar

rock about five hundred meters away. He frantically switched off

everything save for life support and sat there a moment, the oxygen

whistling softly into his mask, the sweat beading on his brow. His gaze

traced the thick veins of ice that fanned out across the stone. He tried to

concentrate on something as mundane as the rock, but the suspense had

his skin crawling.

"My scanners are blind, Merlin. Talk to me."

The little man knew better than to appear in Blair's cockpit, perhaps

creating a detectable energy source. Instead, he transferred himself into

the Rapier's main computer, where he could speak sans his holographic

form. A dim light flashed in the right display as he replied, "Crosstalk

between a large Kilrathi vessel and the brown dwarf down there. I can't

decipher the code."

"They know we're here?"

"Possibly. From the sophistication of the equipment on board, I'd say

the vessel is a Command and Communications module, probably a

Thrakhra-class transport retrofitted for the job."

'"So what's it commanding?"

"At least six other ships near the brown dwarf are communicating with

it. Interesting. I'm picking up an Ultra Low Frequency signal. The Rapier's

scanners aren't equipped to receive or detect ULF."

"But you are?"

"Don't tell me you've downloaded my sarcasm program?"

Blair waved his hand. "Forget that. What's it mean? This frequency?"

"It's a primitive pulse technology, Ultra Low Frequency. Very slow, but

it carries over extreme distances, not unlike tom-toms. Pilgrims used ULF

during the war."

"So why would the Kilrathi—" Blair caught himself. "Did you say

Pilgrims?"

"Yes. I believe I did."

"Then you know more about the Pilgrims? You told me my father wiped

your flash memory."

"I… I don't know how I know about the ULF signals," Merlin

stammered. "I just do. Perhaps that data is buried in my suboperating

memory, left over from the war. Maybe it's intuition."

"Intuition?" Blair fought off a chill. He could deal with Merlin's

sarcasm. But a PPC with intuition? The prospect unnerved him. "Well, do

you have signal source?"

"It appears to be coming from quadrant thirty."

"Thirty. That puts it near the Tiger Claw. Can you translate it?"

"The code isn't in my…" Merlin broke off.

"What?"

"They're scanning the rocks."

"Merlin off."

Emerald light flickered above, and Blair could almost feel the scanning

beam as it passed over the rock.