Darwin

by Amanda Bridgeman

  “Don’t move!” Harris yelled, as soon as he realized they were the only targets present. Both he and McKinley held their weapons firm against their shoulders, eyes focused on their sight-line, while Brown and Carter ducked low between, sweeping the area around them. All they saw beyond the bio cell was another metal door, leading into Section Three.

  “We are UNF soldiers! I repeat, do not move!”

  The four men did not move, nor did they say a word. They stood perfectly still, heads turned toward them, hands by their sides, no weapons. Their faces stared expressionless. Harris and McKinley moved forward under Brown’s and Carter’s cover, to stand in front of the bio cell. The four men’s eyes followed them. Harris kept his weapon aimed despite the wall of thickened glass between them. McKinley kept sweeping off to the side, checking around them. Harris stepped forward and pulled on the glass door that led into a small, square, glass chamber, that then led onto a second door and into the cell itself. It was locked. He nodded back at Brown and Carter to move forward, which they did.

  Harris looked closely at the men in the cell and recognized their faces from the file he’d studied. They were part of the Darwin’s crew, although they looked a little paler than their photos had shown. He wondered how long it had been since they’d seen some real sunshine.

  “Where are the others?” Harris asked tightly.

  No response. They just looked at him.

  “Where’s the rest of your team?” Harris asked again.

  One of the scientists standing in the middle of the group, a tall man with closely shaved white-blond hair, answered in a calm, clear, English accent.

  “We do not know.” His voice sounded a little distant as it sounded over the speakers of the sealed cell.

  Harris stared at him for a moment. “Doc,” he said into his mouthpiece.

  Doc’s team crept around the corner then, weapons out front, eyes to sight-lines.

  “Guard these men,” Harris ordered.

  Doc nodded.

  Harris motioned for his team to follow, and they moved along to the next set of doors and prepared to enter Section Three.

  *

  Carrie, Colt and the three pilots watched the screens of Doc, Smith and Louis, eyeing the men in the bio cell. All four of them were standing just centimeters apart. Three of them were tall and all were very broad, but with faces that were a deathly pale, despite a tiny flush of crimson across their cheeks. One had very short peroxide-white hair, one jet black and long down his back, one dark brown and curly, and the other one short gray hair.

  “Well, they look a little weird,” Colt noted aloud.

  “They’re some of the crew, aren’t they?” Packham inquired.

  “Yeah,” Hunter said pulling up another screen with the staff profiles on it.

  Carrie looked at the screen. The blond was Bradford Chet, an Englishman who was second-in-command at the station. The one with long black hair was Mattieus Logan, an Armenian-American. The one with curly hair was Tynek Grolsh, a Czech. The gray haired one was Karl Fairmont, a Canadian.

  The four men remained standing completely still, staring directly at Doc, Smith and Louis, who stood in front of their cell.

  “Are any of you hurt?” Doc asked, keeping his gun trained on them.

  They shook their heads in unison.

  “You do not need those masks,” the blond one, Chet said.

  “I’ll take my chances for now, thank you,” Doc responded.

  Carrie’s eyes flicked over to Harris and McKinley’s cameras. They were moving down the corridor, their two-by-two coverage continuing. From their cameras, Carrie figured that the station’s mess hall was to their right and the rec area to the left. The rec area was a large room that had screens dotted around, a pool table in the middle, and a seated area on the side, with bookshelves, and a substantial amount of gym equipment. The whole area was of course tidy, lifeless. Just like the rest of this place …

  The mess hall was a little larger than that on the Aurora, and of a sterile white with shiny plastic red seats. It was also empty. Clean. Unused.

  Her eyes darted back to Doc’s monitor. He was crouching on the floor, looking down at a piece of equipment he was holding. He twisted some dials, keyed some data in and then checked the reading.

  “You register that, Hunter?” he spoke through his mouthpiece.

  Hunter looked hard at a screen on the flight desk. Carrie saw information scrolling. Hunter grabbed his mouthpiece .

  “Copy that, Doc,” he replied.

  “You concur that the readings are correct?” Doc asked him.

  “Just running an air sample now.” Hunter leaned forward and pressed a couple of buttons on the control panel. There was another whirring sound and a few beeps. Hunter checked another monitor on the flight desk, and flicked his head back and forth between that and the one showing the information that Doc had sent through.

  “Copy that, Doc. The samples match those inside the Aurora. Over.”

  “Copy that, Hunter,” Doc placed the equipment in his backpack and stood again.

  Carrie watched as his hands came up to his face and he began to remove his mask.

  Her breath caught.

  The mask came off and Doc stood there and inhaled deeply. Louis and Smith were watching him, picking up his profile on each of their cameras. He stood there for a moment, eyeing the four men in the cell, then bent down and picked up his gun to resume cover.

  “It’s okay,” he told Louis and Smith. “You can take them off. The air is good.”

  *

  Harris and his team continued down the corridor to the staff quarters. They’d heard the conversation between Doc and Hunter, and had removed their masks as well. They did their two-by-two checks of each of the rooms, all of which were empty, clean, and seemingly unlived in. They were now at the end of the line with only the emergency exit door facing them, which would lead back out to the dock, to the Aurora.

  Harris clenched his jaw a moment, thinking, then turned around to his team. “Let’s head back.”

  “What, no strippers?” Carter held his hands out.

  Harris gave him an unimpressed stare as he walked past. They made their way back to the middle section where the “survivors” were, and he walked straight up to the glass wall.

  “Where are the others? Where’s the station’s ship, the Spector?”

  The Englishman eyed him. “You have not formally introduced yourself, sir.” His voice sounded polite, albeit distant, over the speaker. “I would like to know to whom I am speaking. I take it you’re the leader here?”

  Harris gave a nod. “I apologize, gentlemen. Captain Harris of the UNF Aurora.”

  The man gave a nod in acknowledgment.

  “So, the rest of your crew? The Spector? Where are they?” Harris asked.

  “I told you I do not know,” he answered.

  “How can you not know? How do five people just vanish without a trace?”

  The man eyed him again. “There was a blackout.”

  “What do you mean a blackout?” Harris asked with a furrowed brow.

  “The power went out. The lights went out. We went out,” he said rhythmically.

  “You went out?” Doc interjected curiously.

  “Yes,” the man turned his head to Doc. “We don’t remember anything. We woke up in here.” He turned his head back to Harris. “And we’d like to get out now, thank you.”

  Harris exchanged a look with Doc, then turned back to the four men.

  “Your name is Chet, right? You’re second-in-command ?” Harris asked the spokesman.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re Logan?” he said to the one on the left with long dark hair and unusual emerald-green eyes.

  He nodded.

  “Grolsh?” he said, to the one with short, dark curly hair and dark eyes.

  A nod in reply.

  “Fairmont?” motioning to the large gray ha
ired one with blue eyes.

  Another nod.

  “Do you know how long you’ve been in there?” Doc asked them.

  They all shook their heads.

  “And you’re not hurt? You’re not in any pain?” Doc probed.

  They shook their heads again.

  “We’re hungry,” Logan spoke up in a deep, gravelly voice.

  “I bet,” Doc eyed him, nodding.

  Harris exchanged another look with Doc, then studied the four men for a moment. “Until further notice, you will remain in that cell.”

  The four stared back at him expressionlessly

  “I know you were running biological experiments up here,” Harris explained. “If Doc gives you the all-clear, I will then give the order and you will be released. Until then you stay put. Do you understand?” Harris said.

  The four continued to stare, their faces completely devoid of any emotion.

  “Do you understand?” Harris said again, a little firmer.

  Chet motioned to Doc. “And what exactly will he have to do to give us the all-clear?”

  Doc went to speak but Harris cut him off.

  “He will ensure that you are not infected with anything that may harm my men.”

  “And what does that involve?” Chet asked, his voice even and smooth, looking over at Doc this time.

  “I’ll need to check your blood, scan for foreign micro-organisms and such,” he answered.

  Chet eyed him for a moment, then gave a nod. “Very well.”

  Harris turned to the rest of the men. “Brown and Carter, guard these men. Louis, Smith, you assist Doc. McKinley, you come with me.”

  Harris took McKinley and made his way back down to the offices in the first section. Doc, Louis and Smith followed as they made their way back to the ship to get what they needed for the physicals on the four men. As Harris and McKinley made the offices, he motioned for McKinley to take one side of the corridor.

  “Search through and see if you can find anything that may tell us where the rest of the crew are or what happened here,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” McKinley responded, as he disappeared into the first room.

  *

  Carrie, still watching from the Aurora’s flight deck, saw Doc, Smith and Louis heading back to the dock from the station. She glanced at Colt, then stood and made her way to meet them. As they entered the ship, the three men glanced over at her but kept heading toward Doc’s office, so she followed.

  Doc swiped his pass and entered, then headed straight into the examination room and started collecting the equipment he needed: syringes, swabs, rubber gloves. “Get that cart, disconnect it from the power source and switch it to battery,” he said to Smith, motioning for him to get the cart containing the vital signs monitoring equipment.

  Smith moved quickly, flicked a few switches and wheeled the cart back to Doc, who started putting the gear he’d been gathering onto it.

  “Louis, in that cupboard is the portable scanner,” Doc pointed.

  Carrie stepped forward. “What can I do?”

  Doc glanced at her. “We got it, thanks.”

  Carrie stared at him for a second, then looked over at the other two men. Smith gave her a friendly half smile, and Louis a blank stare.

  “Can I help carry something, at least?” she offered.

  Doc was scanning the glass cabinet which contained many small vials of fluid. He came across what he was looking for and pulled out four of the vials, adding them to the cart. He looked over at her again. “Captain’s orders. You guard the ship, corporal.” He went to another cabinet and pulled some more items out, then grabbed the BP tester and added them to the cart. He looked around the room. “That’s it for now. Bring the cart, Smith.”

  As Doc walked toward the door again, he passed Carrie, and they locked eyes briefly. He went into his office and picked up four blank e-clips from his desk.

  “Let’s move out!” Doc ordered.

  Smith and Louis left the room, and Doc followed. As he reached the door he stopped and looked back at her; one hand on the lever ready to close it, e-clips tucked under the other. She flashed him a disappointed look, and as she passed one of the e-clips he had tucked under his arm, fell. She quickly bent to retrieve it at the same time as he did, and they connected, bumping shoulders.

  “Sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady them both. She bent down picked up the e-clip, and tucked it back under his arm, then turned and headed back to the flight deck.

  She re-entered the room, slumped back in her chair, and looked up at the screens. Colt eyed her curiously, but she ignored it. Carrie noted the four survivors hadn’t moved. They were still standing in a row, centimeters apart, staring at Brown and Carter, looking somewhat intrigued. Carter walked up to the glass and rapped his knuckles on it. He turned to Brown and said, “It’s thick, but it’s not bulletproof or laserproof.” Then he turned back to the survivors and eyed them again with a slight smile, before stepping back.

  Her eyes darted over to Harris’s and McKinley’s screens. They were still looking through desk drawers, scrolling through e-filing panels, and flipping through the minimal paperwork present. She moved her eyes back to Doc’s monitor. He was making his way down the corridor to where the survivors were. As he turned the corner to where the bio cell was, the four men stood impassively, watching as he walked toward them.

  “How do you want to do this, Doc?” Brown asked, stepping forward.

  Doc looked at the survivors.

  “I need to check you out, one at a time.” He spoke to Chet: “I’ll start with you. You other three stand back.”

  Doc moved over to the door, snapped on some gloves, and pulled his breathing apparatus on. “Smith, get this thing open.”

  Smith walked over to the door and pulled out the equipment he’d used to get them into the station. It worked its magic and the cell door unlocked. Brown, Carter and Louis trained their guns on the four men. Smith fell back and did the same.

  Doc stepped into the first square glass chamber and closed the door behind him. A series of beeps sounded, like a countdown, and suddenly a rush of white mist washed over him, making him vanish for a second. It suddenly cleared, they heard another set of beeps, and the door leading into the cell proper, opened.

  Doc stood at the door, unmoving. “Logan, Grolsh, Fairmont, stand back!” he ordered.

  They looked at him, then glanced over at Chet who gave a slight nod. The three of them looked back at the Aurora’s soldiers, then moved slowly and silently back against the wall. Doc quickly glanced around at his team, checking their guns had him covered, then he stepped into the cell. As he did, Chet took a step toward him.

  “Don’t move!” Carter yelled.

  Chet turned his head slowly toward him. “He can’t examine me from over there, can he?” Chet spoke calmly enough, but there seemed a slight edge to his voice.

  “Put your hands up and turn around,” Doc ordered him. “You too,” he ordered the other three men. “Turn around, face the wall and put your hands in the air.”

  Chet looked at him.

  “I’m going to frisk you,” Doc explained.

  Chet nodded, then slowly turned around with his hands in the air. The other three followed suit. Doc patted him down thoroughly, then moved over and patted the other three down. As soon as he confirmed they were unarmed, he pulled out his equipment to test the air quality in the cell, confirming with Hunter that it matched the readings outside. Doc removed his breathing apparatus, holding his breath while he exchanged it for a simple surgical mask.

  “Okay, Smith, bring the cart in,” he ordered. Smith, wearing a surgical mask as well, wheeled the cart into the square chamber, then stepped back out and closed the door, as the “cleansing” process occurred. The second door unlocked and opened. “Get me a couple of chairs too,” Doc ordered as he took the cart and wheeled it into the cell.

  *


  Carrie’s eyes flicked over to Harris’s and McKinley’s monitors. Harris was still searching through one of the offices, but didn’t appear to be having any luck.

  “I got nothing,” McKinley said, leaning through the doorway of the office Harris was searching.

  “They were Chet’s and another guy—Ravearez’s—offices you had, right?” Harris asked him.

  McKinley nodded. “Nothing.”

  “Go down to the cargo office, see if you can find anything there,” Harris ordered. McKinley nodded and left.

  “Hunter?” Harris said taking hold of his mouthpiece.

  “Yes, sir,” Hunter answered from the flight deck.

  “The office I’m in is supposed to be Professor Sharley’s. Am I right?”

  Hunter hit a button and another screen appeared alongside the others. “Just double-checking now, sir,” he answered, hitting a few more buttons on his console. The plan of the station appeared on the screen, then zoomed in on the location of the offices. “Yes, sir. According to the plan, you’re in Sharley’s office.”

  “Hmph. Bullshit!” Harris muttered, as he slammed a drawer shut on the desk he’d been looking though.

  *

  Carrie’s eyes flicked back to Smith’s camera as he fed the two chairs into the bio cell through the square chamber one by one. Doc took them and placed them down opposite each other, motioning for Chet to take a seat, which he did.

  The lieutenant pulled out his BP equipment and began to unravel it. “Place your left arm out,” he ordered.

  Chet rolled his arm toward Doc, who began to tighten the band around his upper arm. The lieutenant glanced down and his camera picked up the bulging veins in Chet’s forearm, along with that of a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. The tattoo looked similar to that of a barcode, except with fewer lines; there looked to be six in all. Doc looked back up at Chet who was staring blankly at him.

  “Put this in your mouth.” The medic held out a thermometer.

  Chet leaned slightly toward Doc as he placed the thermometer in his mouth, then seemed to hesitate a moment. Carrie wasn’t sure what he was doing exactly, but it looked as though he was inhaling.

  Doc pulled back, giving him a weird look. “Something wrong, Chet?”