Wesley Richter

[Zapp]

Wesley had been summoned to the Kanzler, something few pilots of his rank (because he was the only pilot of his rank) had ever had. He now stood uncertainly on the threshold to his chambers, two guards decked out in marine gear with fully automatic and state-of-the-art rifles at their sides. They seemed poised to jump in any direction at once, whip up their guns, and face down a charging army, all at the same time. They made Wesley nervous, but he didnt have much choice.

Ever since the other day, Wesley had had a throbbing ache in the back of his head, more of a minor nuisance than any real pain. He felt drawn to someplace outside the building but nearby, the hangar deck, he though. Regardless, he strode forward to open the double-doors. The first guard, to his left, moved forward and stopped him with a hand to his chest. He then frisked Wesley rather thoroughly, while the second guard watched complacently, seeming ready to raise his gun and fire in about two seconds. Once he got the OK from the first guard, Wesley went in.

The two guards followed him in and stationed themselves to either side of the door, eyes seeing potential enemies behind the drapes, in the shadow of a bookcase, inside the Kanzlers desk. The Kanzler himself was a sight. He was in his late-thirties, early-forties, about six feet tall and anywhere from 150 to 170 pounds, though appearing closer to 170. His hair was jet black with smatterings of gray, his eyes a piercing blue. His face was hard as rock and as forgiving, though beneath the gruff exterior was a gentle kindness, which appeared slightly repressed due to having held the office of Kanzler for a few years.

Wesley Richter. Please, have a seat, he said, motioning to a simple chair in front of a large desk. The Kanzler, who had been looking at a book cover at the book case to Wesleys left, moved behind the desk and sat down. Wesley emulated him.

Now, I have here a report of your actions, he continued, glancing at his computer screen on the desk, which was on the right side (Wesleys left) of the desk, tilted for easy viewing. And I have, in fact, read this particular report many times. Quite interesting. I thought it would give something extra to hear it from the man who gave it.

And so Wesley spun his tale, telling it simply and without embossment as he had the first time. The Kanzler showed no sign of surprise, not even a twitching eyelid. When Wesley was done, the Kanzler regarded him for a moment, just staring. Then he spoke:

Do you know what this is? He pushed over a printout of the scanning records, showing Wesley bringing aboard a strange Nomad item. Wesley just shook his head; he had no idea.

If you hadnt passed the Nomad detection test with flying colors, you would be dead right now. Apparently, this thing, whatever it is, was generating enough radiation and power to run our entire fleet. And, when the Hazmat team went to remove it from your ship, it moved of its own accord and then finally melded with your ship. Is there a problem?

Genuine concern was in that question, as Wesleys right hand was pressing to the side of his skull, trying in some vain effort to stop the blinding pain that had blossomed from the ache when he had mentioned that it had melded with his ship.

Yeah, I was all Wesley managed. He took a deep breath the pain was beginning to diminish. Sir, if you dont mind me asking, whats going to happen to my ship?

First were going to study it, and then were going to have to destroy it. Dont worry; youll get a new one. And maybe a promotion. Dismissed.

Wesley stood to attention, mind only half on saluting and walking out the room.