“I don’t see Hunter? Is he not eating with us?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
Just as Harris said that, Grolsh stiffened at the end of the table and snapped his head around to look at the door. The other three survivors followed suit, stopping mid-mouthful, straightening up and eyeing the door carefully.
Harris glanced at Doc, and then back to the four men. “Something wrong, gentlemen?” he asked them, eyeing the door and seeing no-one.
Brown and McKinley were paying attention, too, from the other table. Within a second of Harris saying that, Hunter walked through the door, closely followed by Packham, Colt and Welles. Harris and Doc exchanged another look. Carter and Smith shot each other puzzled glances, then went back to eating. Logan turned back around in his seat and stared at Chet. The two looked at each other as though they were communicating with their eyes.
“Is there a problem?” Harris made his voice more commanding.
Chet turned and smiled at him. “We didn’t expect to see female soldiers on your crew, captain.”
Fairmont turned his attention back to the conversation as well.
“This is a test case,” Harris told them.
“I see.” Chet nodded. He glanced over at Grolsh, who had not yet taken his eyes off the women.
There was thud under the table, Grolsh jumped and snapped his head back around to glare at Chet. Chet held a big smile on his face as he turned back to Harris and Doc.
“I apologize, gentlemen. It has been a while since we’ve had the company of females. Grolsh forgot his manners.”
Harris didn’t respond, but gave Grolsh a blank stare, then went back to eating.
“Have they been with you long, captain? This test case, how new is it?” Chet probed.
“Fairly new,” Harris said flatly.
“Fairly new,” Carter piped up. “That’s one way to describe it, captain. Four days here and they think they fuckin’ own the place!”
Doc shot Carter a stern glance. Smith saw it, too, and they both dropped their eyes to their plates. Logan looked back over to Chet with a tiny smile on his face. Both he and Chet seemed to have another conversation with their eyes. Grolsh glanced back over at the women who had now taken seats at the other table. Fairmont was watching them as well.
“Is there only three of them, captain?” Chet continued his line of questioning.
“Why the interest?” Harris asked impatiently, dropping his fork to his plate.
Chet almost bowed his head in submission. “I’m just curious, captain. I never thought I’d seem them on a crew like yours, that’s all.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Harris told him.
“So, tell me about what you guys did on the Darwin?” Doc said, changing the conversation and doing what he did best, pretending he hadn’t already read their files, what little of them that wasn’t classified, that is.
Chet gave Doc a smirk. “You know we can’t tell you that, Doc.”
“I’m not asking you to tell me about your classified programs. I’m just asking what you did? What you do? What’s your background? Physics? Chemistry?”
Chet nodded patiently at Doc. “Very well. My background is in biochemistry. Believe it or not, I started my career in sports science, working with athletes, then I joined the UNF and they helped develop my career further. I guess you can say that I’ve always been interested in the human body and how to get the most out of it.”
“Biochemistry, huh?” Doc nodded, then turned to the others. “And you guys?”
Logan went to answer, but Chet answered for him. “They are studying under me in biochemistry and biology, the UNF way,” Chet said, then let a smile creep onto his face. “But I’m sure you’ve already read that in our files, Doc. Hmm?”
Doc shook his head. “I only get access to medical files, and unfortunately yours were classified, you see.”
“Ah, yes. Of course,” Chet replied.
“Had you worked with Professor Sharley for long?” Doc asked, keeping the conversation focused on them.
“For some time. He’s a great scientist,” Chet answered.
“Yeah, I read some papers of his once. His comparison of animal hunters and serial killers was quite interesting,” Doc smiled, finishing his plate.
Carter furrowed his brow and looked at Doc. “What do animals and serial killers have to do with the UNF?”
“Serial killers are incredibly smart specimens,” Chet answered him. “Most of them have extremely high IQ’s and study their prey in order to defeat them, the way true hunters do.”
“He did a lot of interesting work building Hell Town, too.” Harris entered the conversation, watching the men for their reactions.
Chet nodded at Harris. “Yes, he did. I did not work with him then, but Logan here did.”
Harris and Doc looked over at Logan. Up close, Harris noticed his thin dark lips looked blood red against his pale skin.
“And what did you do there?” Harris asked him.
Logan’s strange green eyes, flecked with yellow, flashed to his. “I assisted him with some of his programs,” his gravelly voice replied.
“Yeah. Doing what?” Doc asked in a casual voice.
“I helped him with his behavioral programs. Disciplinary programs, mainly.” Logan stared down at his hand as he ran his fingers along a scratch in the table’s surface. Harris noted that his dirty fingernails were slightly long, and filed in such a way that they came to a point, instead of a blunt edge or natural curve.
“Ah,” Doc said sitting back in his chair. “Are we talking about the controversial techniques Sharley used to keep the prisoners in line?”
Logan looked up from his finger to Doc. “Some of,” he nodded.
Just then they heard Colt’s laughter over at the other table. Harris watched as the four survivors turned and stared at her. The three women glanced over at the staring men, then back at each other. Colt said something that made Packham smirk and Welles chuckle, although she tried to stifle it.
“How did your men take to your new recruits, captain?” Chet asked curiously.
“Fine,” Harris answered sharply, “like any other recruits.”
“Mm,” Chet murmured, eyeing the other table, absorbed in his own thoughts.
“So, what do you guys do for fun on the Darwin?” Harris said, pushing his plate out in front. He felt it was time to change the subject and lighten the mood a little.
The men looked at each other.
“I’m a fairly mean pool player,” Fairmont suggested.
Harris shook his head. “Unfortunately, the UNF doesn’t supply us with a pool table.”
“We’ve got one back on the station?” Grolsh offered eagerly.
“We’re settled in here now,” Harris told him, “and although we don’t have a pool table, we do have cards.”
“Cards?” Logan smiled, “Now that’s my language.”
“We’ll let’s clear these plates and get a game going, shall we?” Harris said.
*
Carrie watched as Smith cleared the plates and Harris, Doc and Carter began playing cards with the four survivors. The rest of the team gathered around the table to watch, but for some reason she stood back a little, off to the side with Colt and Packham. She was finding the survivors and their stares a little strange, so right now she preferred to keep her distance.
The first game was long and played mostly in silence. Everyone seemed cautious, studying how the others played their hand, and strategizing their own moves. Carrie could still feel the tension in the air. She wondered if a game of poker, a competition of sorts, was the right answer for a bunch of testosterone-filled males?
Chet folded first, smiling. “Unfortunately, cards aren’t my forte.”
Carter and Grolsh soon followed suit. Harris, Doc, Logan and Fairmont went on a while longer, but then Fairmont and Doc folded simultaneously. So it was left to Harr
is versus Logan. She noted the survivor’s card face consisted of a sly smile, while the captain’s was the opposite—completely deadpan. They held out as long as they could, then both laid their cards on the table. Logan was the winner.
“There’s a new king in town!” Harris acknowledged his win.
Logan shrugged modestly. “Perhaps.”
Carrie noted that McKinley was standing back, leaning against the wall beside the women. She recognized the hardness in his face as he watched the survivors. So that was the look he gave every stranger. It wasn’t just us. Although, studying him now, she noted the stare he gave the survivors was a little harder than the looks she was used to. Suddenly, McKinley’s piercing blue eyes shifted to hers. He’d noticed her watching him. She held his stare for a moment with her best poker face, then looked away.
She watched several more games as the players interchanged. Doc won a couple, as did Logan. Hunter managed one win, and Harris came close several times, but was always pipped at the post by another. Carter continued to get frustrated every time he lost. He always seemed so sure that he was going to win. Carrie figured he should be used to it by now.
As Hunter gathered the cards to reshuffle them for the next game, Chet looked over at the women.
“Would the ladies like to play?” he asked with a debonair tone.
Carrie and the women exchanged a glance.
“Are they allowed to play, captain?” Chet asked.
Harris nodded. “Of course they’re allowed to play.”
Chet turned back to the women and smiled, raising his eyebrows in question.
Packham gave a half-smile. “No thanks.”
Chet moved his eyes to Carrie.
“I’m no good,” she blurted, then flashed McKinley a quick glance, as a smile curled the corner of his mouth.
Chet looked over at Colt with raised eyebrows.
“Maybe later. I’m happy watching for now.” She waved him off.
“Alright, so who’s up?” Harris called.
Louis, Smith, Brown and Bolkov all squeezed in around the table.
“Whoa! We better crack out the second deck,” Carter noted.
“Ready to go!” Smith pulled one out of his shirt pocket and placed it on the table.
Hunter passed the cards down for Harris to deal out, and the next game started. Carrie noted that the atmosphere seemed a little more relaxed now. Despite her earlier reservations, it would appear that the cards were a good idea after all. They seemed to have enabled a little male bonding of sorts.
She decided poker-watching was making her thirsty, so she walked behind the mess counter, took some juice from the cool room and put it out on the bench. She looked over at the group playing cards. Maybe I should get a round of drinks happening … she noticed Grolsh watching her, his head turned as far as it would go. She looked at him for a moment, then turned back to the cool room and took out some more juice. She bent down, grabbed a tray from a cupboard, and slid it up over her head onto the counter, then started pulling glasses out as well. When she was done, she stood back up and was startled to see Grolsh standing on the opposite side of the counter, staring at her.
“I’ll help,” he said. His accented voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes stared at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.
“Er, sure,” she said, pushing the tray of empty glasses his way. As she did, her eyes fell over Grolsh’s shoulder and saw McKinley watching them from against the far wall. It didn’t look like a casual glance. McKinley was paying attention to them. What was going on with him? She wondered. What did he say to Brown before when he’d turned their comms off?
She walked over with the juice to the empty table beside the group, Grolsh walking silently by her side. She motioned for him to put the tray down, which he did. She started pouring the juice, looking up occasionally at the group. They were enthralled in the game, although she did notice the other three survivors glance over at both her and Grolsh. Doc did, too.
She took the tray of juice over to the playing table and everyone started reaching for a glass. Louis reached over Smith to get one, while focusing on his current hand, but as he brought the glass back toward him, he knocked over the remaining glasses, tipping the heavy tray and sending juice flying into Smith’s lap and down Carrie’s arm.
“Fuck, Louis!” Smith cried out.
Louis saw Smith’s lap covered in orange juice and started laughing. “Oh shit!”
Carter joined in laughing and some of the others smiled, amused. Harris shook his head. Carrie stood there for a second and looked at her wet arm, wishing she hadn’t been wearing her long-sleeved shirt. She turned around and put the tray of tipped-over glasses on the spare table.
“Oh, man!” Smith sat there looking at his lap and shaking the juice off his arms.
“I’ll get some napkins!” Carrie offered. She ran over to the counter, grabbed the half empty tray of serviettes and handed them to Smith. She saw the puddle on the table and on his chair, and figured there weren’t going to be enough to wipe up all that was spilled.
“I’ll get some more from the store,” she offered.
She headed for the door, looking at her wet arm again. Remembering she had her UNF singlet underneath, she removed the wet overshirt and hung it over the back of the chair to dry, then left the mess hall.
*
Harris and Doc watched on, slightly amused, at the commotion at the table. Smith and Louis were abusing each other, albeit mostly in jest. Carter was laughing so hard, Harris thought he was going to have a coronary. Packham and Colt were giggling to themselves where they stood beside the table, and McKinley was shaking his head, smiling at the abuse Smith and Louis were throwing at each other. Brown and Hunter were looking at Brown’s sleeve, as he was convinced he got some spilt over him, too, while Bulk sat there quietly looking at his cards and thinking about his next move.
“Oh, dry up, you little English girl,” Louis laughed teasingly at Smith.
“Fuck this, you French fuck. Take your fucking snails and shove them up your fucking ass,” Smith said, standing up, trying to dry himself with a handful of saturated napkins that were quickly disintegrating over his clothes. “I’m going to change.” He looked over at McKinley. “Play my hand for me, and make sure this French fuck doesn’t cheat,” he spat at Louis, who was still laughing at him.
McKinley grinned as he picked up Smith’s hand and studied it. Carter and Louis were still laughing, mimicking Smith, while Brown and Hunter were debating whether he had any juice on him.
“I can feel it, man!” Brown told him.
“I’m telling you there’s nothing on there, Brownie! Look!”
McKinley glanced around the room as he took a seat at the table. As soon as he sat down, he suddenly paused, dropped his grin and looked at Harris.
“Bad hand?” Harris asked him, amid the ruckus.
McKinley looked around the room again, as though he was searching for someone.
Harris looked around the faces at the table. Smith went to get changed, he thought, then looked over and saw Welles’s shirt hanging over a chair. That’s fine, she’s gone to get some more napkins. Then he, too, stopped suddenly. He looked back at McKinley, who was staring at him.
Grolsh was missing.
Harris’s eyes darted over to Doc, who had obviously realized the same thing, and was sitting back in his chair, eyeing the doorway.
“I’m going to fold,” McKinley said calmly, placing his cards face down and getting up from the table.
“Fuck, was his hand that bad?” Carter asked. “He probably tipped the bloody juice on himself to get out of it!”
Carter and Louis started howling again.
Without drawing attention, Harris and Doc watched quietly as McKinley headed calmly toward the mess hall door. In between glances at his second lieutenant, Harris noted the three other survivors weren’t smiling anymore. Their eyes were directed at their cards, but
he could tell they weren’t looking at them. Their minds were somewhere else.
“WHOSE FUCKING TURN IS IT?” Bolkov growled loudly.
Everyone abruptly quietened down and looked at him.
Then someone yelled in the distance.
They looked over in the direction it came from. Just as McKinley made the doorway, they heard it again.
“DOC! DOC!” It was Smith, and he was panicked.
Doc shot up from the table lightning quick, jumping over the empty chairs at the other table, racing for the door, as McKinley started running down the corridor. Harris stood and turned around to Brown.
“Stay here. Watch them,” he ordered, pointing at the other three survivors. He started walking quickly but calmly for the door. He didn’t want to cause panic and he knew that McKinley and Doc were ahead of him. As he turned into the corridor he saw McKinley up ahead at the intersection. He had his pistol out, sweeping around for something or someone. The look on his face struck Harris. It was anxious, maybe a little rattled, but he also saw a tinge of guilt in his eyes. Smith stepped backward into the corridor intersection then, staring off to the side at something on the floor. Harris quickened his pace to a jog. Where was Doc? he thought.
As he approached them he heard a hideous gasping sound from around the corner. He turned and saw Welles on her knees on the floor. Doc was crouched in front of her. He held her head in his hands, in front of his face, her somewhat limp body falling against him.
“Fuck, Welles! LOOK AT ME,” Doc yelled at her. “BREATHE!”
Welles looked like she was only semiconscious, struggling to keep her eyes open. Her face had a bluish tinge to it and her neck was bright red.
“Welles!” Doc shook her slightly, a touch of panic in his voice. “CARRIE! Carrie, look at me,” he demanded.
She seemed to register her name and looked at him, still fighting for breath, a long line of drool now hanging from the corner of her mouth.
“Carrie, breathe. Relax and breathe,” he told her firmly but calmly, his eyes boring into hers, trying to hold her attention.
There was another hideous sound as she took a big gasp of air and started coughing and choking, grabbing onto Doc’s shirt for dear life.
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