Darwin

by Amanda Bridgeman

  Fairmont stepped forward.

  There was little conversation during the rest of Doc’s testing, just the odd comment here and there. The four men were still carefully eyeing the three soldiers outside the cell, looking them up and down, sizing them up almost. The Aurora team, in turn, appeared to be sizing the survivors up. Carrie wasn’t sure whether it was just a male dominance thing, but there seemed to be tension in the air, although for the most part, they were polite to each other. It was all very weird.

  The only other thing that stood out to her, was Logan’s comment to Doc at the very end. As the lieutenant was placing his vials on the cart, Logan leaned over to him and said in a low voice, which would’ve been inaudible to the others had it not been picked up on Doc’s headpiece: “Remember what I said earlier, Doc.”

  Logan sat back slowly in his seat, smiling oddly at the medic. “I’m sorry about the bruises,” he motioned casually to Doc’s arm. “No hard feelings, huh.”

  Doc didn’t seem to react. He just stared back with a cool poker face.

  “Doc?” Chet interrupted their staring contest. “Can we have one last shot of the hydration fluid? For good luck.”

  “You’ve had plenty already. You shouldn’t need any more.”

  “But I’m still thirsty,” Grolsh piped up, his voice was almost begging. “I don’t feel like the water is making any difference.”

  “We’re sweating it all out!” Fairmont added, his voice almost pleading, too.

  Doc studied each of the four men.

  “What can it hurt, Doc? One more?” Chet asked calmly. “The air is so drying on this station.”

  “I’ll see how you are when I come back with your results,” he told them.

  Grolsh went to say something, but Chet cut him off, holding up his hand to stop him.

  “Very well, Doc.”

  *

  Harris was staring at the crew files for the Darwin. He still couldn’t find anything that jumped out at him and his conversation with Command had been brief.

  “That’s classified” was the answer he’d been given regarding the two cargo ships and their waste. Professor Martin had assured him there was no reason for concern with regards to the contents of those waste containers. He said he knew what the contents were and he was certain they had nothing to do with the loss of comms or loss of crew onboard the Darwin.

  They had also, so far, been unable to locate the Darwin’s missing ship, the Spector. “We’ll advise you as soon as we know something,” he’d been told. So that left him with absolutely nothing.

  All he could do now was wait and see what the blood tests revealed, as that would dictate what happened next. Command confirmed that if they did reveal some sort of virus, then a special team would be deployed to the station to quarantine everyone, including the Aurora crew. If the tests were fine, they were to release the survivors, and eventually hand them over to a team of Professor Martin’s men who would be deployed to take over the investigation into the whereabouts of the missing Darwin crew. So, for now, it was merely a babysitting job. They just had to wait for those results, then advise Command which team they needed to deploy.

  Harris looked at his watch. 16:00. He rubbed his hands over his face. He was starting to get tired, worn out. He looked over at his coffee station. It was in need of some replenishment. He thought about Welles and her requests to speak with him. He sighed. It has to be done sometime … He reached forward and hit the intercom button that connected him with the flight deck.

  “Flight deck, this is the captain. Over.”

  “Captain, this is the flight deck, go ahead. Over.” Packham’s voice came back over the speaker.

  “Send Corporal Welles to my office with a fresh pot of coffee. Over.”

  “Copy that, captain. She’s on her way.”

  *

  Carrie walked along the corridor with the pot of coffee toward Harris’s office. She was a little nervous. She knew he had asked for her because he’d decided now was the time to speak about the morning’s incident. She was hoping to hell he wasn’t going to mention Doc. She pictured her father’s face, determined not to let thoughts of dishonoring his name cloud her mind. Strong and steady, she spurred herself on. You’re a good soldier, and you mean business. Let Harris know that.

  She reached his office and knocked on the door. It slid open, she stepped inside, and the door closed behind her. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t actually been inside his office until now. She quickly looked around. It wasn’t much unlike Doc’s, except perhaps a little more furnished and homely, less hospital-like, more neat and tidy.

  Harris was seated at his desk on the other side of the room. He looked up at her from reading a file that was lying on his desk.

  “Coffee’s over there.” He motioned to her right.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw the drink station. She moved over and took the old pot out and put in the fresh one.

  She looked over to the captain. “Did you want one now, sir?”

  “Yes, please,” he said, picking up his cup and placing it on the edge of his desk, not looking up from the file he was reading, “Straight black.”

  She took the cup and filled it up. Then, taking the empty pot with her, placed his cup back on his desk in front of him. He reached forward, picked it up and took a sip, still not looking up from the file he was reading.

  “Is that all, sir?” she asked firmly.

  He finally looked up from his file, then sat back in his chair and studied her carefully. “You tell me, corporal. Have you not been wanting to speak with me all day about something? I would’ve thought now would be an opportune time.”

  She glanced down at the empty coffee pot in her hands, then looked back up at Harris and nodded. “Yes, sir. I wanted to apologize for talking back to you this morning at breakfast. It was out of line and I was wrong to do it.”

  He stared back at her, “Yes, you were, Corporal Welles.”

  “Please accept my apologies, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  He seemed to study her. His eyes searching hers as though he was trying to gauge whether she was genuinely sorry, or just going through the motions.

  “We all have a part to play on this ship, corporal. Big or small. You don’t always get to do the top line stuff. That’s life. You’re a new recruit on this ship and you need to earn my respect first. I don’t just hand it out. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded firmly. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’d better think twice before you speak to me like that again. Understood? I will not take attitude from anyone, especially a corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.” Carrie nodded; Harris’s hard face making her heart pound against her ribcage.

  A moment of silence passed as Harris stared at her.

  “Good. Is that all you wish to speak about?” he said, sitting forward in his chair.

  She looked at him nervously and swallowed. “I believe so, sir.”

  “Alright. Dismissed.”

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Harris opened it, and Carrie turned around to see Doc. He was about to enter, but pulled up short, when he saw her there. He eyed the empty coffee pot in her hands.

  “I’m sorry, captain. Is this a bad time?” he asked.

  “Nope. Welles was just leaving. Come on in,” Harris said.

  Carrie headed for the door, as Doc stepped in. She saw him trying to make eye contact as she passed, but she kept her eyes front and focused on her exit.

  *

  Harris watched Doc as he walked over to his desk. He seemed quite businesslike and not his normal relaxed self.

  “Take a seat, Doc,” he said. “How long before the results are in?”

  “Just under 90 minutes,” he said, looking at his watch and taking the seat.

  “What about the rest of their tests?”

  “Their temperatures are still high. They’re still sweating profusely. Their heartb
eats are still accelerated, on the verge of mild cardiac arrest, and they’re still acting edgy. More edgy, if anything. But I won’t know until I see the blood work.”

  Harris looked at him. Doc looked a little tired and edgy himself.

  “What are you thinking?” Harris asked him.

  “I don’t know. I’ve still got an uneasy feeling about them. They’re hiding something,” Doc sighed. “Did you find anything out?”

  “Bits and pieces. The last two cargo ships that docked here are suddenly classified. They both became classified after they docked and took away with them classified waste and classified data files, on top of their normal load of unclassified cargo. Both ships have been docked at Command ever since, and are being decommissioned as we speak, being sold for scrap like they never existed. The last ship, the Belgo, is owned by an ex-con named Gray Quint, who just so happens to be an ex-resident of Hell Town.”

  “Yeah, what for?” Doc’s curiosity was piqued.

  “Murder. Several counts of it. He was in for 77, but got sprung after six for good behavior.”

  “That’s some deal.” Doc sounded surprised.

  “Yes, it is. And I can’t find much information on him either. Although he was at Hell Town while Sharley was resident there.” Harris took another sip of his coffee.

  Doc scratched his head, thinking for a moment. “You think this guy, Quint, whacked Sharley for revenge, for all the mind-fucking he got in Hell Town? Maybe ran off with his top-secret programs?”

  Harris pursed his lips together. “Not a bad theory. Either that, or Sharley let him out early in return for some favors. Perhaps he worked the mind-fucking to his advantage? Made Quint his bitch in return for an early release?”

  Doc nodded, thinking about that theory.

  “You dig up anything else?” Harris asked, gulping his coffee this time.

  “Not really. Nothing concrete. A lot of the items on the manifest are used in bodybuilding.” Doc narrowed his eyes at Harris. “Those scientists are well built?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “And the machine on the list,” Doc continued, “it’s used to test hearing levels … on humans.”

  Harris and Doc stared at each other for a moment, as the hair seemed to prickle across the back of Harris’s neck.

  “You think there’s a connection between this machine and the scars behind their ears?” Harris’s voice had dropped an octave or two now.

  Doc nodded slowly, “Could be. It’s interesting … the animals they ordered … they’re all renowned for particular senses. Cats, for their hearing; dogs, pigs, polar bears, for their sense of smell; owls for their night vision. Cats, too, in that regard.”

  Harris kept staring at Doc, his face deadpan. “What are you suggesting, Doc?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, captain. I have no idea what they were doing here. I’m just noting a few things that could perhaps tie together.”

  Harris sat back in his chair, eyeing him carefully.

  Doc shrugged. “Maybe the scientists like to work out. Maybe they were just taking steroids to make themselves buff, and that’s all it is.”

  “But they wouldn’t order the steroids on the UNF’s tab, surely?”

  Doc shrugged again. “Unless they were doing a dodgy deal. Passing it off as work?”

  Harris narrowed his eyes in thought. “And the ear thing?”

  Doc shrugged again. “That I can’t explain. Maybe they’re working on an improved hearing device for soldiers or something. Maybe that is one of their programs?”

  Harris took another gulp of his coffee, his brain ticking over. “You know, Louis said something at lunch … about how he was sure Chet and Logan were watching them in the dark.”

  It was Doc’s turn to stare at Harris.

  “You did say something about owls, cats, and night vision?” Harris asked, his voice sounding a little unsure.

  Doc nodded slowly. “When I was doing the tests, Chet kept … smelling me.”

  Harris nodded back slowly. “Louis also said that they seemed to be quite attuned to noises in the distance. That could definitely explain those scars, but you said the scanner picked up nothing unusual?”

  “Nothing unusual with regards to a man-made device. I wasn’t looking for something biological, something not human. I just check for obvious blockages.”

  Harris felt a pang of uneasiness shoot through his body.

  Doc leaned forward in his chair and ran his hands over his face. “This can’t be right, can it?” he said eyeing him with disbelief. “They couldn’t be doing that shit, surely?”

  Harris didn’t answer.

  “We can’t be talking about …” Doc continued, “biologically engineering UNF soldiers? Improving them? Making them better—”

  “… hunters?” Harris finished his sentence.

  Doc looked as though a pang of uneasiness had just shot through him as well.

  Harris shrugged. “That is what he studied, isn’t it? Perfect hunters, perfect killers?”

  Doc nodded.

  “It makes sense,” Harris continued. “This is a UNF facility. They are working on biological programs for the benefit of the UNF. The UNF is in the business of supplying soldiers for complicated missions like conquering other planets. It’s not unrealistic to think that they’re trying to upgrade their current stock.”

  Doc rubbed his face again and let out a deep sigh. “So how does this tie into the loss of comms and the missing team members?”

  Harris shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe we’ve just stumbled upon one of their programs, and that’s it. It may not have anything to do with it.”

  Doc sat back in his chair. “Okay. So let’s say we’re right. These guys are not just scientists, but scientists trained like soldiers, with heightened senses, beefed up on steroids and who knows what else. What do we do if their blood tests are fine? I have no reason to hold them medically.”

  “And I have no reason to hold them under UNF law, if I can’t link them to the missing crew.”

  “Which we can’t and it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to in less than 90 minutes either. So where does that leave us?”

  “I don’t know, Doc.” Harris paused, his mind working. “There’s a chance they may not have had anything to do with the disappearances. It could’ve been Quint, like you said. Maybe Quint took care of the missing crew and shipped their bodies home. Maybe Bulk wasn’t nuts when he said there were bodies in those barrels of waste. The survivors may not be a threat to us.”

  “But they know something.”

  “Yeah, they know something … and Logan did threaten you.”

  “And he reminded me of that threat again this afternoon.”

  Harris glanced at the bruises on Doc’s arm, and began to rub his hand along his jaw, “So, they’re edgy; they’ve been locked up a while now.”

  “Making threats is not a way to get yourself released.”

  “No. But I would probably have a thing or two to say to my rescuers if they didn’t release me either.”

  Doc sighed again. “Yeah.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, thinking.

  “If those tests are fine, we’ve got no choice but to release them, Doc. We’re just going to have to watch them like hawks, pardon the pun, until the next UNF team gets here to take over the investigation.”

  “And how long is that? Two and a half, three days?”

  Harris nodded. “Doc, until we know for sure, we can’t say anything to the others. I don’t want a bunch of freaked out soldiers with itchy trigger fingers running around.”

  “Yeah. Agreed.”

  “We’ll just tell them to be vigilant … especially McKinley.”

  Doc looked at Harris and nodded, rubbing his face again.

  Harris sighed. “Why don’t you try and get an hour’s shut-eye, Doc.”

  His medic looked at him and gave a laugh.
“Are you kidding? How the hell am I going to switch my brain off this now?”

  “It’s easy. You just close your eyes and think about something else.”

  Harris looked at his watch. 16:31. “I might take my own advice. If we end up releasing them, I want my brain to be alert.”

  Doc stood from his chair and began to head for the door.

  “I’m serious, Doc. Give it a try,” Harris called after him, getting out of his chair and following.

  Doc glanced around and gave him a halfhearted smile: “Yes, sir.” As he walked toward the door, Harris saw Doc catch sight of the coffee machine and stop, the smile disappearing from his face.

  “You want a coffee, Doc?” Harris asked. “That’s not going to help you sleep.”

  Doc looked back at him, face serious. “You think our theory might be the reason why Command ordered you to keep the new recruits on the ship?”

  Harris looked back at the coffee machine and remembered that Welles had just changed the pot over. He shrugged. “Could be, Doc. That would definitely hurt their PR exercise if something went wrong.”

  They exchanged a concerned look.

  “Doc, on that, our conversation earlier, I didn’t mean t—”

  “It’s fine,” Doc cut him off. “The situation’s been handled.”

  Harris eyed him for a second. “That why she ran out of the room just now?”

  Doc shot him a blank look, then turned and left the room.

  There was that line in the sand of his.

  *

  Carrie looked around the mess hall. It was all set for the crew’s dinner. When she’d brought back Harris’s empty coffee pot, she figured she might as well get everything done while she was there. Besides, it wasn’t like she had anything else pressing to do. Colt was still on the flight deck and Carrie actually enjoyed the time alone. Although, being left to her own devices meant her mind had time to run away with far too many thoughts.

  She was paranoid about Doc meeting Harris after she left, but realized it was probably to do with the tests. Harris hadn’t mentioned anything about Doc to her, so it wasn’t a big deal. She thought of her father again, and what he would think of her behavior. It had honestly caught her by surprise. She ran over all the events since she’d been on the Aurora, racking her brain to think of when and where she might’ve overstepped the mark with Doc, but she struggled to find any of serious concern. She’d had one-on-one conversations with him, but they’d been no different to her one-on-one conversations with Colt or Packham. So, where had she gone wrong? Why had Doc suddenly raised it with her?