Darwin

by Amanda Bridgeman

  Carrie shrugged.

  “We’re supposed to organize a data dump to an e-file every five minutes,” Packham continued with her tutorial. “In case of any power failures, they’ll still be able to access information, if need be. The system does an autosave every 60 seconds.”

  “Where are the panes you’ve loaded so far?” Carrie asked.

  Packham motioned to a drawer beside her. “Some of it’s in there, but Smith said the captain has the rest.”

  Carrie moved over to the cabinet and opened it. There was a stack of blank files and two or three that were glowing, which indicated they contained data. She picked one up and started scrolling through it.

  “You sure you oughta be nosing in that?” Colt’s voice had a motherly tone to it.

  Carrie shrugged and glanced over at the other two. “An extra set of eyes can’t hurt, can it?”

  Colt and Packham exchanged a wary look.

  “It’s just more stuff about another cargo ship called the Belgo,” Packham told her.

  Carrie looked up at the sergeant.

  “Who do you think did the data dump?” Packham said.

  Carrie flicked through it quickly, scanning the transcripts. It was much the same as those of the Stella Maris; conversations about cargo deliveries. She shut down the file and placed it back in the drawer.

  “Did you see the other stuff? The stuff that the captain’s already got?” Carrie asked Packham.

  She shook her head. “Smith was on duty, then.”

  Carrie sat back in her chair and stared at the monitor. What’s the captain trying to find? Why is he so interested in these cargo deliveries? Her mind suddenly went back to the mess hall at lunch. She remembered that Doc came in late and didn’t stay. She remembered Harris watching after him as he’d left. He must’ve been busy working on something for the captain.

  She stood up. “I’m going to see if Doc needs a hand with anything.”

  The other two exchanged another glance.

  “I thought Harris said for you to stay here,” Colt reminded her.

  “He said to learn the data systems and I have.” She looked at her watch. “Doc might need a hand getting ready for the next lot of physicals on the survivors.” Of course, she was lying as she’d already gathered the stuff together for him, but she was curious to find out more about what was going on with the Darwin.

  “Corporal, you should stay here,” Packham said somewhat firmly, as though pulling rank.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, sergeant,” Carrie assured her.

  Packham shot her a warning look as she turned and left the flight deck. Carrie wasn’t sure what it was about, but it stayed in her mind for the entire journey to Doc’s office.

  *

  “Hey, Doc,” she said, knocking and entering his office. He was at his desk, head in hand, looking intently at some files he had in front of him. He glanced up at her and an uncomfortable look shot across his face. He looked down at his files.

  “What is it, corporal?”

  “I just thought I’d see whether you needed a hand with anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” He looked up at her then back down at his files.

  “You seem to be up to your ears in something there?” Carrie approached and came to a stop on the opposite side of his desk. “You sure I can’t help you with any research or anything? I know my way around search engines, sir!” she smiled, “Used them a bit in my previous life.”

  Doc let out a quiet sigh, but continued looking at the files in front of him. “What orders did the captain give you?”

  “He said to learn the data systems on the flight deck and I’ve done that. I just thought maybe you could use my help. They seem to be downloading a lot of information from the Darwin.”

  “Well, like I said, I’m fine. You should go back to the flight deck until Captain Harris orders you otherwise.” He looked up at her briefly and then returned to his work.

  Carrie eyed him. Something wasn’t right. What was that uncomfortable look for, earlier?

  “Is everything okay, Doc?” she asked. “You look a little on edge.”

  “I’m fine, Welles. I’m just busy,” he said, not looking up from the files.

  He was avoiding eye contact with her now.

  “I’m sorry, have I … done something wrong, Doc?” she asked slowly, scrutinizing him.

  He glanced up at her, shook his head. “No,” he said, then looked at his monitor and started typing something.

  “I tried to have a word with the captain, but he’s avoiding me,” she said, wondering whether it had anything to do that.

  Doc didn’t answer and kept looking at the screen.

  “I’ve tried a few times now, but he won’t talk to me. He’s not exactly open to people, is he?” Carrie added.

  Doc looked at her. “Corporal, don’t mistake the captain being good at his job for him being an asshole,” he said tersely.

  She looked at him, a little surprised. “I don’t … I just mean he’s a little hard to speak to. He’s not exactly approachable, like you are.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t mistake me being good at my job for anything else either!”

  Carrie was taken aback by the cutting way Doc spoke. She stared at him, a little stunned, as he quickly turned back to the screen in front of him, clenching his jaw as he did so.

  “Er, I … don’t,” she said quietly. She felt a strange sensation in her chest, as though his words had somehow winded her. “I’m sorry, Doc, you said I haven’t done anything wrong?”

  He sighed again, frustrated. “Welles, I’m busy and you should be on the flight deck where Captain Harris ordered you to be.” He didn’t look up from the screen.

  She stood there quietly for a moment, then nodded. Clearly, he was angry at her for something, she just didn’t know what it was. All she knew was that she had to leave him alone, and fast, making her exit as formal as she could.

  She straightened her posture and spoke in her best soldier’s voice, albeit still somewhat taken aback. “I apologize, Lieutenant Walker. I won’t disturb you again.” She saw Doc’s face soften and his body slump slightly as she turned and headed for the door.

  “Welles,” he called.

  She didn’t look back, but kept walking toward the door, wanting to leave immediately.

  “Welles!” He scooted around her and placed his arm between her and the door, hitting the lever to close it.

  She eyed him and saw he was staring at the floor, rubbing his hand over his forehead, mind ticking over.

  “It’s okay, Lieutenant Walker, I understand. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” She kept her formal manner.

  “Welles,” he began, his eyes a little defeated, “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean for what I said to come out like it did. I just mean … you can’t just keep dropping by here like this.”

  She gave him a confused look.

  He looked down at the floor again for a moment, then took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “I can’t be seen to be spending too much time with you,” he said slowly and carefully. “At least, not more than the others. It doesn’t look good.”

  Carrie felt her brow furrow. “Why?”

  Doc gave her a look as if to say “you know what I mean.”

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding. She gave a slight nod. “And if I was a male soldier? Would it be a problem, then?”

  He looked at her and gave a slight shake of his head. She nodded again, staring at the door in front of her, suddenly feeling utterly stupid. She took a deep breath and turned to him. “Well, I apologize if I got you into trouble or caused you any embarrassment, Lieutenant Walker. It won’t happen again.”

  Doc’s face looked even more defeated. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Welles. We just need to … watch the time spent alone.”

  Carrie looked him in the eyes for a moment, but felt uncomfortable and turned back to the door.
For some reason his words made her nervous. She suddenly became aware of how close he was standing to her, his arm still outstretched to the lever, blocking her pathway to the door.

  “Can I go now, lieutenant?” she asked, staring at the arm that blocked her path.

  Doc let out another sigh and slowly removed his arm. Carrie immediately hit the lever, and as soon as she could, vanished.

  *

  Harris stood in the control room, thinking. McKinley was watching him, trying to read his thoughts. Smith had moved his chair closer to Bolkov’s as they tried to determine the reason for the comms issue.

  “So, the last two cargo ships’ crew files are classified. As are most of the transmissions once the ships have docked. We can access their incoming manifests, however. So, there’s something that’s happened once they’ve docked that’s made their voyages all of a sudden classified. It’s not what they’ve brought to the station. It must be something they’ve taken away,” Harris said, thinking aloud.

  McKinley nodded. “Let’s see if we can bring up the manifests of what the ships have taken with them,” he suggested.

  Harris nodded back at him. “Smith?”

  Smith moved his chair back to the other console. “On it!” He started tapping and swirling about on the screen. “Alright,” he said scanning the data. “On the Stella Maris … it looks just to be waste … and some data files. On the Belgo … it’s the same. Waste and data files.”

  “And I suppose there’s no information on those data files?” Harris asked unenthusiastically. He already knew the answer.

  “No, sir,” Smith confirmed.

  “Alright. Well, how does the outgoing manifest of these ships compare with the outgoing manifests of the other ships over the past twelve months?” Harris asked.

  “Just give me a second,” Smith said, as he once more turned to his screen.

  Harris and McKinley stared at each other while they waited, as though trying to find the answer on the other one’s face.

  “It would appear … anywhere between 80 and 100 containers of waste are collected every six weeks,” Smith said.

  “And on the Stella Maris and the Belgo?” Harris asked.

  “The Stella Maris had … 115 drums of waste. Oh, wait … it says here 95 are general waste and 20 are labeled as classified waste.”

  “Classified waste?” Harris felt his brow furrow. “And the Belgo?”

  “The Belgo had 118 drums of waste … 99 general and 19 classified.”

  “Were there data files on the other manifests?” McKinley asked.

  “Just a second,” Smith said scanning the monitor as he flicked between screens. “Yes, there was. Not quite as much data as what the Stella Maris and Belgo took away, though.”

  Harris rubbed his jaw again, deep in thought. “So these two ships have become classified, and they’ve taken extra waste and extra data files away. Something has happened on the Darwin while they were here. Something classified, that has therefore made these ships and their crews now classified. Smith? Can you find out where these ships docked after they left here?”

  “Yes, sir. It might take a few minutes.”

  Bolkov looked over at Harris and McKinley. “Maybe the crew were smuggling something? Or perhaps they were jumping ship? Stowing away in drums as classified waste?” he offered.

  Harris cast an implausible look in Bolkov’s direction, but Bulk stared back in all seriousness.

  “Some people do some crazy things to get out of some places,” the Russian offered in his slow deep voice.

  “Some people just put in for transfers, too, Bulk,” Harris replied, flatly.

  “Alright!” Smith piped up. “The Stella Maris went straight back to Earth and docked at … Command! So did the Belgo.”

  Harris paused, staring at the screen, his mind ticking over at a fast pace.

  “Why are standard cargo ships docking at Command?” McKinley asked, “Don’t they just pick up the UNF supplies from the commercial docks?”

  Smith shrugged. “Classified waste from a classified station?”

  “Where are they now?” Harris asked Smith.

  “They’re both still at Command. Looks like they’ve been listed for decommissioning and sale.”

  “They’re both still at Command,” Harris repeated, rubbing his jaw more animatedly now. “So, the Belgo departs the station with its classified waste and docks at Command. Two weeks later they lose comms with the station, and then we’re sent here to find out why.”

  Harris and McKinley looked at each other again.

  “I think I need to have another discussion with Command,” Harris said flatly.

  16

  Bloods

  Carrie sat on the flight deck with Colt, Packham, Carter and Louis. They were watching the monitors displayed on the flight deck window. Brown and Hunter were still on duty, guarding the bio cell. Carrie found herself studying the four men held within it. The one with long, dark hair, Logan, was walking up and down behind the glass frontage, eyeing Brown and Hunter carefully. Grolsh was pacing also, but he remained toward the back in the shadows. Fairmont was sitting on the edge of one of the pulled out beds, rocking, while Chet was standing completely still, arms by his sides, silently watching everyone.

  “They’re still acting weird,” Louis commented.

  “Are you kidding?” Colt asked. “Look at them, they’re acting weirder!”

  “Well, Doc’s just about to get their next lot of bloods, so this’ll be interesting,” Packham said.

  Carrie kept looking at Brown’s monitor. She really wanted to avoid all mention of Doc’s name right now. She’d been left somewhat mortified by their conversation. Never before had she needed to be pulled up on her interaction with another soldier. Here she was living her ultimate dream on Space Duty and, four days in, she was on the verge of potentially screwing everything up. She didn’t want to talk about Doc and she certainly didn’t want to think about him. She just wanted to focus on the Darwin and the solid soldier she knew she could be. She cringed internally at the realization of what a fool she’d been: spending too much time with one soldier, and talking back to her captain. What the fuck was I thinking?

  The four men in the cell all of a sudden stopped what they were doing and, in unison, looked over to their left. Brown and Hunter turned to look down the corridor in that direction. No-one was there. Hunter glanced at Brown, who shrugged, and they looked back at the survivors. They were still staring off to the bend in the corridor. Hunter looked back to where they were staring and then saw Doc and McKinley come walking around the corner with the cart. The Aurora’s chief pilot glanced back around at Brown and they seemed to stare at each other for a moment. Doc gave them both a quizzical look, obviously wondering what the glance between them was for, as he wheeled the cart over to the cell. He reached up and clicked on his headpiece, and his monitor lit up on the screen on the flight deck. McKinley did the same.

  “Dead on time,” Chet said, looking at his watch.

  Doc eyed the men in the cell, then glanced over at McKinley, who moved forward and unlocked the cell door, then stepped aside, holding his gun ready.

  “You’ve brought extra protection, Doc?” Logan said, his voice sounding even more gravelly than before.

  Doc ignored him, pulling on his surgical mask and squeezing the cart into the entrance chamber with him. The door sealed behind him, the mist washed down, and Doc vanished briefly, then reappeared again. He opened the second door and entered the cell.

  Logan stared at him. “What do you think we’re going to do? Kill you? Kill you and then be showered in laser fire from your friends?” He motioned to McKinley, Hunter and Brown outside the cell.

  Again, Doc ignored him. He looked up at Chet and waved him forward to sit on one of the chairs that remained in the cell, and begin the tests. Chet moved slowly over to the cart, removed his shirt and took a seat. Logan began pacing again, while Grolsh shuffled about unc
omfortably.

  “Why don’t you pull out one of those beds and relax, Logan?” Doc told him.

  The survivor’s emerald eyes fixed on the medic, a slight smile playing on his lips. “I’d prefer to stretch my legs …”

  Carrie watched as Doc did the tests. She tried to look elsewhere around the room, at the other monitors, but the action was happening with him. Chet was still sweating, his heartbeat was still racing and from what Doc said over his mouthpiece, his temperature was still high. He took out the empty vials and started collecting the blood.

  Chet sat there staring into Doc’s camera for a while, then leaned in close, and appeared to be inhaling him again.

  “What the fuck?” Doc asked pulling away from him. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “I like your aftershave,” he smiled.

  The other survivors sniggered quietly. Doc eyed them all carefully, then turned back to Chet.

  “Yeah? That’s funny, ’cause I’m not wearing any,” Doc said with a slight hardness to his voice.

  Chet shrugged and smirked. “Perhaps it’s just your deodorant then. It smells … good, whatever it is.”

  Doc stared hard at Chet.

  “I’m just paying you a compliment, Doc, that’s all,” Chet said holding his hands in the air in surrender.

  “Well, I recommend you don’t do it again,” Doc said firmly.

  “Pay you a compliment?”

  “Smell me!” Doc voice seemed to match the hardness in his eyes, captured on McKinley’s camera.

  Chet smiled silently, as the other survivors smirked.

  “Lunch was very tasty.” Chet changed the subject. “My compliments to the chef.”

  Doc looked from Chet’s arm to his face. “I’ll be sure to let Command know.”

  “What? Pre-packed food? No live-in cook onboard? Is Command cutting costs?”

  Doc didn’t answer him.

  Chet looked around at the Aurora’s soldiers. “No new faces this afternoon, Doc? Is this all you brought with you? Hmm.”

  Again he didn’t answer. He marked the vials and put them in a thermo container on the cart.

  “Next,” Doc said flatly, staring at Chet blankly.