“Tell me when?” Louis said to her, a big smile on his face as he mushed the spoon around in the dish, a little too long for what was necessary, she thought. He was enjoying this. Smith, also watching, was on the verge of laughter.
“When,” she said quickly after the one scoop, whisking her plate away.
She turned around and automatically locked eyes with Harris, as she overheard Carter saying, “Oh, she is so going to hurl, man!” It felt like the whole crew were watching her, even Colt. Carrie made her way over toward the other corporal, and as she walked, the smell of the food, which appeared to be some kind of creamy chicken stew, wafted into her face. The smell automatically triggered her saliva glands into over-production, but not in a good way. As she reached Colt, she placed her plate on the table and stood there. She couldn’t make herself sit down. She couldn’t bend her stomach right now. Colt eyed her nervously.
Doc came and stood beside her, placing his plate on the table, “Would you like to come and get that shot now, corporal?” he asked quietly to avoid drawing attention.
Carrie felt terrible. She was positive that any second her stomach was going to explode. She had to get away from that smell. She glanced quickly at Doc and nodded.
“Follow me,” he said, walking toward the door.
Carrie followed him and again felt all the eyes in the room upon her, particularly those of the captain. She tried to look as healthy as she could, but it was an extremely difficult task. As she exited, she heard the men burst out laughing and winced with embarrassment.
Doc turned around and looked at her. “You could’ve avoided that if you’d just come with me in the first place, you know.”
“I get the feeling that it still would’ve happened regardless …” she managed quietly.
The walk to Doc’s office seemed to take forever, although it was just down the corridor. As she entered the room, the clean antiseptic smell hit her and that air bubble appeared in her throat again. She felt the blood drain out of her face. Doc walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a ready-filled syringe and walked back over to her.
He gave her a funny look. “You want to throw up first?”
“Just do it,” she managed, as she put her hand over her mouth and turned her shoulder to Doc.
He grabbed a paper bag from the countertop and shook it open. “Here,” he said giving it to her, and within a spit second of handing her the bag, he’d pushed up her sleeve and jabbed her with the needle. The short sharp pain that shot through her arm as the needle pierced her skin, was all it took to trigger her stomach to heave.
“Whoa … just in time!” Doc said quietly. He quickly disbursed the fluid into her arm, removed the needle and tossed it in a waste receptacle.
Carrie heaved again. Doc swabbed her arm with something cold and wet, then let go of her sleeve and walked across the room. Carrie looked down into her bag of vomit for a moment, waiting to see if she was done. She felt a warm fuzzy sensation come over her and assumed it was whatever Doc had just injected her with. She immediately felt better, and decided it was safe to close the bag over.
“You done?’ Doc said holding out a white plastic cup filled with water.
She nodded. “Where do you want it?”
“I got it.” He took the bag off her and handed her the cup of water, “Sip it, don’t skoal it down.” He walked over to a window in the wall and pressed a few buttons on a keypad beside it. The window opened, he placed the bag inside, and after a whirring noise and a whoosh, the bag slid from sight.
Carrie sipped the water, it felt fantastic, and her stomach felt no desire to heave it back up. Doc washed his hands and headed back to her.
“How’re you feeling now, corporal?”
“Better. Thank you,” she shot him a quick, embarrassed, smile.
“Don’t be so stubborn next time,” he told her. “I’ve had to give some of the guys shots from time to time. It happens.”
He headed over to the door and motioned for her to follow. “C’mon, I’m starving.”
She took her cup and followed him back to the mess hall. As they approached the door she straightened up, wanting to look the picture of health. She finished off the last of the water and crushed the cup in her hand, stuffing it into her pocket. Doc walked through first. He looked over at the table of men, which now included Louis and Smith, but kept on walking. Captain Harris was at the counter getting seconds. She saw the men look at Doc, then at her, but kept their sniggering to a minimum. She wondered whether the lieutenant had given them a “look” to leave her alone. As she walked by the table, however, she saw Carter lean over to McKinley.
“I wonder what Doc gave her to cheer her up so much?”
The table broke out in laughter, and Doc looked around at them. Carrie made her way back to where she left her food, sitting down beside Colt, as Doc grabbed his plate and joined them.
“Now you look a normal white!” Colt said to her.
Carrie smiled and let out an embarrassed laugh. Just then Bolkov and Packham walked into the room. They headed over to the counter and started serving themselves food. Carrie figured that Hunter must be manning the flight deck. Harris finished serving up his seconds and looked over at her table. He headed in her direction and took the seat opposite. The men at the other table grew quiet and watched him.
“Got your appetite back, Corporal Welles?” he asked frankly.
Carrie swallowed her mouthful and nodded through a slight blush, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said taking a mouthful. “Be a shame for you to miss Louis’s food. Not all our meals come from the Command kitchens.”
Carrie was desperate to change the topic of conversation as she knew the other table was listening in. “Was that your song choice, captain? When we took off?” she asked.
He nodded, finishing his mouthful. Carrie smiled. She hadn’t picked him for a rocker.
“Do you always play a song on takeoff, sir?” Colt inquired of the captain, as Packham joined them, sitting down beside the captain.
“We do.”
“Is it always the same song or do you alternate? Does everyone pick a song?” Colt continued.
Harris shook his head. “Departure and arrival songs are always the captain’s choice. Occasionally I let the men choose songs during our training runs, but it all depends on how much they’ve pissed me off that day.” He shot the men at the other table a hard glance.
Doc chuckled, as he finished another mouthful on his plate.
“Speaking of training,” Harris continued, looking back at Carrie, “I’m looking forward to seeing you on the shooting range.”
Carrie swallowed her mouthful, noticing McKinley out of the corner of her eye as he looked over to their table.
“That Santos Siege was something special, corporal. You took out six men, that right?” Harris arched his eyebrow at her.
All eyes in the room were on her now.
“Wait,” Packham interrupted. “That was that hostage situation in Madrid a few months ago, right? I saw that on the news. That was you?”
Carrie shrugged humbly. “Well, there was a team of us. I didn’t get them all on my own.”
“But you got six men, including Jose Gardos the rebel leader?” Harris appeared intrigued by her modesty.
Carrie nodded. “Once I took out Gardos, the rest of them were pretty easy. They panicked and started running around. It was like moving target practice.” Carrie surprised even herself at the matter-of-fact way she’d said it, like she was talking about the stock market or something. She glanced around, noticing just how quiet the room was.
“You ever killed anyone before?” Harris asked, eyeing her carefully.
Carrie looked back at him for a moment. She tried not to think of her targets too often. She shook her head. “No. I’ve wounded plenty before, but my orders for the Santos mission were to shoot to kill. So, I did.”
“Six men is a good haul, Welles, espe
cially for your first time,” Harris said. “Like I said, I’ll be interested to see you on the range tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Carrie nodded. It suddenly dawned upon her that Harris was trying to help her regain some “face” with the men. He’d been talking loudly enough for everyone to hear, asking the right questions. This was the first conversation he’d bothered to have with her since they met at 0700 that morning. It was short, it was sharp and his voice was completely devoid of any emotion, but she was grateful nonetheless.
*
Carrie yawned as she lay on her bed.
“So what were the guys like on the flight deck, anyway?” Colt asked Packham, as she stretched out in her own bed.
The sergeant gave a short laugh. “Typical flyboys. Hunter spoke to me as little as possible and I don’t think Bolkov can speak at all!”
“Hmph,” Colt agreed. “Sounds like the two I was with. The only things Carter said were something smart-ass, and Brown only spoke when he had to.”
Carrie scoffed at both of them. “At least they spoke to you at some point. You should’ve seen McKinley!”
“You know they’re just testing us out, right?” Packham said climbing into her bunk. “We’ve moved into their territory, and they’re letting us know that. I’ve seen it again and again.”
“Well, they better hurry up and accept my ass, ’cause I ain’t putting up with that shit for very long!” Colt said, jerking her neck to the side.
Carrie chuckled at her.
Packham rolled over in her bunk and looked down at the other two. “You’ve got to try, too, you know. Don’t go sitting off to the side in mess hall or on the flight deck. You’ve got to get in the thick of it. You put your face in their face, they’ve got no option but to acknowledge and recognize you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Colt said quietly, mulling it over.
Packham looked over the edge at Carrie. “How’s your gut?”
“Better now. Whatever Doc gave me did the trick.”
“Yeah. The first time I went up I vommed so much …” Packham said, a glazed expression taking over her face.
“But you’re a pilot!” Carrie laughed.
“I know,” she shrugged, “go figure. My gut was used to fighter jets in the Earth’s atmosphere, not spaceships floating around in space. I guess I just had to get used to it.”
“Well, hopefully I got it all out of my system. Literally!” Carrie said, then she looked over at Colt. “Did you throw up your first time?”
Colt shook her head, as she stretched out again. “Not me. I got an iron gut. I grew up on all kinds of spicy food, nothing upsets it. I do remember it felt weird, mind you, but I didn’t lose my lunch.” She glanced between the two of them. “It’s you skinny white girls who can’t hold your gut.” Her face broke into a cheeky grin.
Packham and Carrie smirked back at her, then one by one they touched their lamps, turning them off, and plunged the room into darkness. Carrie yawned again, as the long day weighed her body down with tiredness. To think this morning she’d merely been an Earth Duty soldier, and now hours later, here she was shooting through space. She smiled to herself, completely content, nestling the image she’d seen earlier into her mind.
At dinner, Packham had explained their flight process, telling her that as soon as the ship made it through the Earth’s atmosphere and gravitational field, the hyperflight would be engaged. Therefore there was only a small window to view the Earth before it disappeared for good. Trying to contain her eagerness, Carrie finished dinner, then calmly but curiously walked over to the mess hall’s observation window, peering through. She recalled how her breath had actually caught at the sight, it was so beautiful. There, in its full awesome glory, was Earth; a massive orb of blues, greens, golds and whites. She swore she could’ve reached out and touched it; such a sight to behold.
Her eyes had then drifted to explore the dark space surrounding it, and the silvery pinpricks of starry light that twinkled at her. And as enticing and intriguing and as breathtaking as the stars were, her eyes were drawn helplessly back to the beautiful marbled sphere she called home.
6
For and Against
Harris looked over at Doc after the women had left the dining hall.
“Take a walk?” He motioned toward the door.
“Sure.”
The two of them dropped their plates at the counter, then headed for the door. As they passed the table where the rest of the crew sat, Harris gave them a stern look.
“Early start tomorrow, gentlemen,” he warned.
The men groaned in response, and a satisfied smile crept onto Harris’s face.
He started down the corridor with Doc, heading for their quarters.
“So how you think it went today?” he asked his lieutenant. “There didn’t seem to be any major issues. Some joking going on, but that’s about it.”
Doc shrugged. “It’s fine. There’re clearly two distinct groups at the moment, but that’s to be expected. It’ll change.”
“Yeah, that will change. I think we’ll run through a few training exercises tomorrow and mix things up a little.”
“Good idea,” Doc nodded.
“And Welles?” Harris arched his eyebrow. “She throw up, or did the shot sort it out in time?”
“Nope. She threw up as I gave her the shot. She’s got a stubborn streak, that one.”
Harris shrugged, “Didn’t want to look weak in front of the others. Understandable. She’ll need to perform tomorrow, though.”
“That was a good move at dinner. Your conversation. The guys took notice. Especially McKinley,” Doc grinned.
“Mm-hmm. Like I said, she’d better perform tomorrow.”
Doc nodded, crossing his arms as a serious look took hold of his face. “And on the Darwin, if needed.”
Harris eyed him a moment, then nodded back. He wasn’t ready to break the news about their confinement as yet.
He parted ways with Doc and entered his quarters, located in a separate section from the rest of the soldiers. As he showered he ran over the day’s events: his discussions with Isaack and Martin; his three new recruits and their supposed capabilities; the reactions of his men; and most of all, that distress signal from the far reaches of the UNF Space Zone that no-one seemed to know anything about.
He stepped out of the shower and eyed his tired self in the mirror, thinking yet again of the dream he’d had that morning. It seemed to be stuck there in the back of his mind, wedged alongside that file on the Darwin and the image of Professor Martin’s face. Just like that sick feeling in his stomach, for some reason the dream would not shift.
The dream itself was reminiscent of a childhood incident that he remembered quite clearly. It had happened the day his father had died. He was nine years old, and for some reason Sibbie and Etta had come to visit his mother that morning. He remembered there was something very strange about their behavior. Their faces were serious, concerned, as they sat quietly drinking tea with his mother and casting subtle glances at him. He remembered looking at his mother and seeing her staring hard at Sibbie, like she was trying to work something out. Then the phone rang.
Sibbie and Etta stood quickly, moving in unison, like they often did.
“Bring Holly-Hope inside,” Sibbie told Etta.
Etta went straight for the door to call his sister Holly inside from playing. Sibbie walked over to the phone and answered it, her thin bony hands clasping it tight. She listened, then turned to his mother.
“Something’s wrong …” Her voice was grave and her eyes troubled, just like they’d been in his dream.
He’d looked over at his mother and saw her eyes well up immediately. She stood shakily, took the phone and stepped away from them, her eyes never leaving Sibbie’s.
“This is Maeve Harris,” she breathed, turning to stare blankly at the wall.
Silence filled the room, as Sibbie and Etta stared not at his mother, b
ut at him. He heard a crash and looked back to see that his mother had dropped the phone, and her hand was on the wall to steady herself, gasping for breath.
“Mama,” he said, moving toward her. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Etta caught him, while Sibbie took hold of her daughter and guided her back to a chair at the table. Then Etta followed.
“Honey?” Sibbie asked her softly, a pained look on her face.
His mother, dazed, looked up at Sibbie. “You knew …” She began to cry.
“No, honey …” Sibbie shook her head, saddened.
“You knew,” his mother protested. “You knew and you didn’t warn us!”
Saul saw Etta staring past him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Holly standing there, clutching her favorite doll, her big, innocent, six-year-old eyes unsure as to what was going on. He heard his mother moan like she was in pain. He turned back and saw her holding her stomach, the tears streaming down her face.
“You knew!” She shook her head, rocking back and forth.
“You felt it too, didn’t you, child?” Etta asked, caressing her back.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” he asked again, louder, to make himself heard.
Sibbie moved over to him then, placing her hands on his shoulders, and looked him deep in the eyes. “There has been an accident, Saul. Your father died today.”
Harris remembered staring back at her. What did she mean he was dead? He’d just seen him that morning. They ate breakfast together. He left in his police vehicle. He waved goodbye.
“Saul,” Etta called to him. “Don’t fear now, son. He’s gone to a good place.”
“Why didn’t you warn him?” his mother cried angrily. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Sibbie turned back to her daughter, wrapping her arms around Maeve’s rocking body. “It doesn’t work like that, honey … you know that. I don’t know specifics, I just know it’s comin’.”
Harris stood there dazed; he didn’t understand what they were talking about. Etta stood then and guided him and Holly to their rooms to pack a bag so they could stay with her that night. All the while his mother sobbed in Sibbie’s arms, the horrible sound grating terribly on his ears.
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