She conceded to herself that she was attracted to him. Regardless, she didn’t think she’d made the attraction obvious. Perhaps she had. Perhaps Doc saw something; a look that she didn’t even know she’d given. Had she been oblivious to it up until now? Why had she suddenly felt so uncomfortable when he’d said they needed to watch their time spent alone? Why had she suddenly become so aware of how close he was standing? And why couldn’t she look him in the eye now? Was it just professional embarrassment? Or was it because the truth was out there between them now?
She sighed again and shook her head. Jesus Christ. Here you are on Space Duty, pursuing your ultimate goal, and this is what you’re thinking about? Some guy. And a fellow soldier at that! Focus!
She looked at her watch and headed for the exit. As she reached the door to the mess, she nearly slammed right into Doc, who was walking in.
“Whoa!” he said, grabbing her upper arms and holding her back to avoid a collision.
“Lieutenant Walker,” she said formally, stepping back out of his grasp.
He frowned a little at her. “I told you it didn’t have to be like that.”
She looked through the doorway and nodded, avoiding eye contact again. He stared at her for a moment, then took a step to the right, into her line of sight, forcing her to look at him.
“Calling me ‘Doc’ is fine, and you are allowed to talk to me,” he said, making sure she locked eyes with him. She stared back into his warm, brown, friendly pools.
“Except when we’re alone like this, right? I’m trying to keep you out of trouble, lieutenant,” she said, then looked away again.
“No, the mess hall is fine. It’s a communal place,” he told her.
“Well, I was on my way out anyway.” She glanced back at him.
He looked at her, his eyes disappointed. “Is there some coffee going?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.
“Over on the counter, sir,” she said, pointing.
They looked at each other for another moment, then Doc conceded and moved aside, and as he did she swiftly left the room.
*
Harris was worried that he might not be able to switch his mind off for a while there. What Doc said had well and truly lodged itself in his brain. Why did Command insist on the new recruits not leaving the ship? Was it because of their inexperience? Were they a possible liability if things got out of hand with these … men? And why had he been given three new recruits for this mission, if that was the case? What could be gained from this? Sending three women up here on a dangerous mission that they couldn’t actually take part in?
He took a deep breath, stretched out his entire body, and purposely cleared his mind. It took some concentration, but years of practice had taught him that a soldier needed to be able to sleep whenever and wherever it was able to be taken. He focused on nothing. He pictured the view he saw out of the flight deck window when he’d been chatting with Bulk; the big, black, nothingness. Before too long he was back in the Jazz Club, dancing with that woman. And not too much longer after that, he was fast asleep.
Some 30-odd minutes later, however, he awoke with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d had that dream again. He was back on Earth, in that field, and his grandmother Sibbie and great-grandmother Etta were there. Sibbie was holding that phone, trying to pass it to him, and telling him something was wrong, while Etta stood beside her and simply nodded encouragingly for him to take it. He refused, however.
He knew it related to that repressed childhood memory from when his father died. Sibbie had answered the phone that day and passed it to his mother, who then received that awful news; his father, a cop, had been killed in an armed hold-up gone wrong. A tragic accident, but according to his sister Holly, somehow Sibbie and Etta had known it was going to happen. At least, they’d known something bad, in general, was going to happen. It only made him wonder whether these dreams meant something bad was going to happen to him now? He knew deep down that that’s why he didn’t want to take that phone …
He remembered hearing his sister Holly ask Sibbie about it, not long after it had happened. Sibbie had told her that she’d had a strange dream the morning their father had died and she knew it had been a warning. Holly always believed that Sibbie and Etta hailed from a long line of female New Orleans ancestors blessed with a gift for sensing things. Some called it ESP, some said it ran deeper than that; from strong gut feelings to dreams of the future.
Although he sometimes humored Holly and entertained the thought that his grandmother may have had it, he’d told himself that if she did, it had ended with her. Holly attested to having no such dreams, nor any particularly strong gut feelings. The only gift Holly seemed to have inherited was her belief. She and Sibbie would spend hours talking about it, but Harris always took it to be a “girl” thing; something the women in his family liked to believe in. Except his mother, of course. And although Holly had pestered him about it over the years, even she had started giving up trying to convince him. He’d conceded to her that he had good instinctive gut feelings, but that he did not believe this came from some family legend. He believed it came from his own intuition, his education and his years of service. Besides, Holly’s argument was flawed. He was male. Even if the legend were true, there’s no way it could possibly run through him. Despite her trying to convince him otherwise.
He lay there on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about it all. He chuckled tiredly and sighed. You didn’t get your leave, Saul, he told himself. Here you are, out in the middle of space near the goddamned Belt, trying to find some missing crew, and all you can think about is your damn family folklore. You need a rest. You’re burning out, going crazy. You need to focus!
He looked at his watch, 17:18, and sighed loudly again, feeling his shoulders slump a little. Any minute now, Doc would have the results of the blood tests.
Any minute now, he just knew that he was going to have to release the survivors.
*
Harris found Doc in his examination room, at the far counter by the autoanalyzer, which tested the blood. Doc looked up at him.
“You get some sleep?” Harris asked.
Doc glanced over at an empty cup of coffee on the bench.
Harris shook his head, and moved over to stand by him. “Okay, lay it on me, Doc.”
The medic brought up the results on the monitor attached to the apparatus. Information started scrolling across the screen. Doc read it in silence for a few minutes, every now and then sliding his fingers along to bring up a new page of results. He had his poker face on, giving nothing away. He hit another button, then a print copy spooled out. He tore it off, looked at it again, then sighed and handed it to Harris.
“We’re going to have to release the survivors.”
Harris grabbed the printout and scanned it, but couldn’t make any sense of the readings. “There’s absolutely nothing here that we can use to hold them any longer?” he asked.
Doc shook his head. “The readings are fine. I can’t explain it. I don’t feel good about it, but I’ve got nothing to work with. We can’t hold them on my hunch.”
“And you’ve done every single test you can think of?”
“Saul, I’ve run a full search. Every virus and every suspect bacteria known to man is loaded into this system. Their blood is clean.” Doc ran his hands through his hair. “Their agitated states, the sweating and the accelerated heartbeats could be due to the steroids they’ve possibly been taking, but I can’t even find traces of that in their blood. I’ve even searched for known masking agents, just in case, but I can’t find them either. Unless, of course, they’ve developed a new masking agent, in which case, I wouldn’t know how to detect it. I’m relying solely on the standard searches this machine can do. I’m a medic, not a scientist!”
Harris sighed, and leaned back against the bench. The silence sat between them for a few moments. He rubbed his jaw, “Well, we tighten security on the shi
p. The flight deck and the cargo hold will now remain locked at all times while they’re here. We’ll keep the weapons store and soldiers’ quarters locked as they have been. The only room that will remain open will be the mess hall. That’s it. I’ll have at least two men on guard around the clock.”
“Maybe we should leave them on the station? Guard them there.”
Harris shook his head. “No. Too big. The Aurora is smaller, more confined. There’s not many places to hide and we know it well. The station is a different story.”
“And what are you going to do about Command’s orders regarding the new recruits?”
Harris eyed Doc. “My orders are for them not to leave the ship. Command said nothing about bringing people aboard.”
Doc stared back and Harris noted his look of concern.
“The Aurora is the safest place for all of us, Doc. We stick together, there shouldn’t be any problems. We outnumber them, don’t forget. Besides, we could actually be wrong about everything. Let’s not allow lack of sleep to color our judgment here.”
Doc conceded with a nod. “Are you going to tell the team to carry weapons onboard?”
“No. Like I said, I don’t want a heap of itchy trigger fingers. We’ll leave it at just you, me and McKinley. That ought to cover us.”
Doc pursed his lips, thinking. “Maybe one more for good measure? Carter? Brown? That’s four of us watching four of them.”
“Good point. I’ll arm Brown too. He’s less trigger happy than Carter. But we’ll just tell them it’s a precautionary measure. We say we don’t fully trust these guys and that’s it. I don’t want people jumping at shadows. We have no proof that they’re a threat to us yet.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harris exhaled loudly, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll send for McKinley to load us up. Then I guess we better tell our survivors the good news. Looks like we’re having guests for dinner!”
17
Juice
Carrie stood at the end of the firing range. She felt a calmness wash over her, as though radiating from her eyes, down to her heart and out through her fingertips, which were curled around the gun. There was something about hitting her targets that felt so right to her. She was in control, in her element. This was her domain. The one true place she felt comfortable and in control.
She spent time on target practice every day, where possible. She was almost afraid that if she didn’t give it attention then she might lose the skill, and as it was the one thing she had, she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She closed her left eye, held the gun out front, steadied her weight and took an even breath in. She squeezed the trigger gently, and zip, the laser hit its target. She walked over to the other range and fired another one quickly, then brought the results up on the screen. More 1’s, just like the rest of her session. She smiled.
She looked at her watch. 17:55. Shit! They’ll be giving the results to the survivors. She hung up the gun and rushed back to the flight deck. When she arrived, she saw Packham and Colt at the console, and Carter and Bolkov sitting at the captain’s desk watching casually.
She looked at the screens and saw Harris, Doc and McKinley making their way to the holding cell.
“Where’s Louis and Smith?” she asked.
“They’re in the mess hall getting some food together,” Colt told her.
“I already did that,” Carrie said confused.
“They went to put more on. We’re letting these guys out. They’re joining us for dinner.”
They all looked to see her reaction.
“They are?” she said taking a seat.
“Yes, ma’am,” Carter said, eyes fixed back on the screen. “Blood work was fine.”
Carrie found herself glued to the cameras. The four men were in the cell, waiting. Logan was no longer pacing, but shuffling around. Fairmont, too. Chet remained still, while Grolsh sat on one of the beds, shaking his leg continuously. They all suddenly looked to their left. Carrie’s eyes jumped to Harris’s monitor. They were walking around the bend and as the cell came in sight, there were four pairs of eyes eagerly awaiting them. She noticed Harris and Doc exchange a glance.
“Right on time,” Chet said calmly.
Doc walked up to the glass wall.
“Tell me you have good news, Doc?” Logan tilted his head to the side, as though a bird eyeing its prey.
Doc put his hands on his hips and carefully watched them. “How are you all feeling?”
“Thirsty,” Fairmont offered.
“Hungry,” came Logan’s gravelly reply.
“Dying to get out of here,” Grolsh said, in a desperate voice.
Doc looked over his shoulder to Brown and Hunter. “How much water did they drink?”
“About four bottles each,” Hunter answered.
“Four bottles,” Doc said, turning back around to the men, “and you’re still thirsty?”
“Well, you didn’t give us that shot, lieutenant,” Fairmont said calmly.
Doc eyed him carefully.
“Doocc,” Chet began, his voice low and eerie, “don’t leave us in suspense. How was our blood work?”
Doc exhaled loudly. “Your bloods were—”
“Yes?” Logan stepped toward the glass wall that separated them.
“Your bloods were fine. We’re releasing you.”
“Excellent!” Chet smiled, his shoulders visibly easing off the tension.
“Wait a second,” Doc held up his hand, stopping him. “We’re releasing you from this bio cell into our custody.”
The four men looked at him blankly.
Harris stepped forward then. “You will be in our custody until Professor Martin’s team arrives. I’ve just spoken with Command. They’re departing Earth today and will be here in approximately two and a half days to take over the investigation into your missing crew. So, you will be out of that cell, but you will remain unarmed and under our supervision. Are we clear on the conditions, gentlemen?”
The four men looked at each other, then Chet turned and gave a big smile. “We are happy with those conditions, captain.”
“Good,” Harris said firmly. He turned to Doc and nodded.
Doc reached into his pocket and pulled out a few vials of the hydrating fluid he’d been injecting them with. Their eyes seemed to light up.
“This will be your last shot. Do we understand each other?” Doc told them firmly, pulling the lever to open the window again.
They nodded. Doc eyed them suspiciously, as they each took a turn to poke their arms through the window and have their injection.
Harris stepped forward again. “Well, gentlemen, as captain of the Aurora, I invite you to dine with us this evening.”
The four of them smiled broadly.
“We’d be delighted, captain,” Chet said, in his most cultured English accent.
Harris looked over at Brown. “Let them out.”
Brown nodded, stepped forward and unlocked the cell door. The four men inside glanced at each other, then slowly and calmly exited through the small chamber just inside the door, each disappearing briefly in the mist before reappearing. The survivors then lined up just outside the cell.
Chet held out his hand for Harris to shake, and he did so.
“Thank you, captain,” Chet said, bowing his head.
“And thank you for your patience with our protocol.” Harris gave a nod.
Logan moved over to Doc, and he too extended his hand to shake, “You made the right decision, Doc,” he smiled.
They shook, but Doc didn’t say anything, nor did his face give anything away.
“This way, gentlemen,” Harris announced, ushering them in the direction of the Aurora.
Harris, Doc and Hunter, moved off down the corridor with the four men. Carrie noticed, however, that McKinley held back and motioned for Brown to do the same.
“I need a word,” he said, reaching up to turn off his headset.
<
br /> Carrie’s eyes darted to Brown’s camera, and watched as McKinley reached up and turned the sergeant’s headset off too. Her brow furrowed. What was that about?
She looked away from the screens and saw that Carter and Bolkov were halfway out the door, on their way to the mess.
“Well, ladies, looks like grub’s up and we don’t have to serve it tonight,” Colt smiled.
“Excellent.” Carrie smiled back and stretched out in her seat.
“I’ve just got to shut down these comms,” Packham said.
“We might as well wait for you,” Carrie shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going to beat that lot to the food queue, anyway!”
Colt chuckled.
Carrie watched as Packham carried out the fight deck shut down procedures. The sergeant finalized a download to an e-file pane, which she then stored in the cabinet. The screens then went blank and disappeared from the main window, all except the external cameras for the ship.
Hunter entered the flight deck. He’d already removed his headwear and weapon.
“Move it, soldiers!” he ordered. “Captain wants the flight deck locked up.”
The three women nodded, and got up to leave.
“Let’s go meet our guests,” Colt said.
*
Harris sat at the far table with Doc, Carter, Smith and the four survivors. McKinley, Brown, Bulk and Louis were on the other table and all were beginning to tuck into their meals. Harris noted the four survivors were eating like they hadn’t eaten in days. Ravenous. He glanced at Doc, who seemed to have noticed as well.
“So, we have the pleasure of your company for two and a half days then, captain?” Chet asked.
“Yes, you do.”
“How wonderful,” Chet smiled, then began scanning the room.
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