Darwin

by Amanda Bridgeman

  Doc continued threading the stitches and eyeing her occasionally.

  “Jesusss, Doc, you’re killing me here.” She slurred her words slightly, in utter exhaustion.

  “You’re doing good. Just a few more minutes.”

  Eventually those few minutes passed and he was done. “Nine stitches, Corporal. Not a bad effort.”

  She gave him another weary smile, as he put more solution over the top. He then sealed it with a thick bandage that resulted in her left eye being almost fully covered. He moved over to the sink with his tray of implements, removed his gloves and washed his hands.

  He returned to her bed shortly after and took another look at her. “Alright, besides the head, is there any other pain? Does anything else hurt?”

  “My whole body hurts,” she said.

  He nodded. “Well, having the likes of Logan hit you in the head and then slam you into a wall is bound to do that.”

  She looked down at her right arm, at the large bruise that had grown from her shoulder to her elbow. “So that’s where that came from, then?”

  “Yeah.” Doc grabbed her arm and gently prodded and squeezed it. “Nothing’s broken though or you’d know about it.”

  She lifted her singlet slightly and peered down the side of her combat pants, eyeing the bruises that seemed to travel down over her hip.

  “May I?” Doc said, moving his hands over to her side. She shrugged her permission, and Doc began to gently prod her ribs, her back, her abdomen and her hip, checking them. “You’ll be black and blue, but there doesn’t appear to be any serious injury. You were very lucky to get out with only this,” he said, pointing between her head and side.

  “Thanks to you guys.”

  Doc gave a brief half-smile, scratching the back of his head. “Well, I’d better get Brown here and try and set McKinley’s leg.”

  Carrie looked back over to the far bed. McKinley was virtually asleep again from the morphine.

  “When can I have some more of that?” she asked, motioning toward the sleeping soldier, referring to the morphine and sleep.

  “Soon,” he said, as he swung her legs up onto the bed, making her wince. “In the meantime, I want you to sit up on this bed and relax.” He removed her boots, dropped them on the floor and kicked them underneath her bed, then walked over to the intercom and paged Brown. She watched him move over to McKinley and start examining his leg.

  Carrie couldn’t even muster the energy to speak now. She looked at her watch. 09:52. Jesus, no wonder, she thought. It’s been a hell of a long night. She thought about the previous 28 hours, and all that had happened. Most importantly, she thought about the four soldiers the Aurora had lost: Smith, Louis, Carter and Bolkov. Gone.

  She thought about those who were left. Thought about Grolsh and the napkins; Chet’s hands on her, feeling her heartbeat. She thought about the discovery of the UNF’s betrayal. At least, the small “classified” section of the UNF that had betrayed them. And after everything that had happened, she had the bittersweet sensation of finally feeling a part of the Aurora team. Harris and McKinley had been hard to break, but she felt as though she’d finally gained their respect. And of course, there was Doc …

  “Welles!”

  She flicked her eyes open. She hadn’t even realized they were closed. She looked over to McKinley’s bed and saw both Doc and Brown staring at her.

  “Doc, I’m fine … I jusss really need sssomesssleeeep,” she slurred.

  Doc moved to her bed. He flicked his light across her pupils again. He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, you can sleep, but I’m wiring you up to monitor your breathing and your heartbeat. Alright?”

  Carrie nodded. “Anything for sleep.”

  “Lay down.”

  Carrie moved her aching body further down onto the bed with Doc’s help. He kept a few pillows behind her to keep her elevated, but at least she was lying back now. He brought over the white discs attached to the monitor, slid his hands beneath her singlet and put the three in place, then turned the machine on. It started beeping away, steady and clear. He then grabbed an oxygen mask and placed it on her face.

  “I want you to keep this on,” he ordered.

  Carrie barely managed a smile, she was so exhausted. But a last thought sent a shot of fear through her. They were still on the Darwin, after all. She flicked her eyes open wide and latched onto his shirt.

  “Are we really safe now?” she blurted.

  Doc nodded. “It’s okay. Sleep.”

  His reassuring words sent a flood of tiredness washing over her, and she let go of his shirt.

  “Just call out if you need anything,” he told her, although his voice sounded cloudy.

  She tried to smile but her face quickly numbed with sleep.

  *

  Harris sat in his chair watching Packham give Brown a rundown of the procedure for takeoff in space. She went through, step by step, each part of the process, and what levels and readings she needed him to check for her. She did three dry runs just to be sure that he was familiar with the sequence and the timing. Brown seemed relatively comfortable. Being the ship’s engineer he had a good working knowledge of the instrument panels and their functions. He focused hard on learning the sequence, as though etching it into his memory for a lifetime. When Packham was done with the training, Harris watched as Brown sat there and looked over the console, again and again, running through things in his mind. He knew everyone was counting on him. He was particular in his work, a perfectionist, and Harris knew he wouldn’t let them down now.

  Packham looked a little anxious, but only in terms of whether Brown was going to do his part. Of course, she didn’t know him like Harris did. Packham herself looked comfortable in the pilot’s chair. The most comfortable he’d seen her look on the ship since this whole fiasco began. He was confident in her abilities. She did well on the docking and she’d been flying cargo ships for some time now. Besides, Hunter had always told him that taking off from a station in space was a walk in the park. But how Packham and Brown would go re-entering the Earth’s atmosphere was another thing. That is, if they got that far before Command intercepted them.

  All the while Packham and Brown studied the flight deck console, Harris kept an eye on the Aurora’s external cameras. The dock was clear. There had been no sign of Sharley or Logan. He had faith in the bio cell that he’d left them in. He’d checked it himself. It was securely locked, and when he’d scrutinized their surroundings, he couldn’t see any means of escape, especially given that the Spector was gone. He knew the other ship would be there soon enough to take them into UNF custody. So as far as he was concerned, they were locked up and no longer his problem. His priority now, was to get his wounded to a fully-functioning hospital.

  He checked his watch. Thirty minutes, give or take, until they could fire up and fly out of there. He moved uncomfortably in his chair, trying to find a way of sitting that didn’t make his ribs hurt, but he found it impossible. He’d give it an hour. He had to last just one more hour and lend moral support to Packham and Brown to get this ship on its way home. Then and only then, could he even think about resting.

  *

  Carrie awoke to her head throbbing and her body sweating. She groaned as she opened her eyes. The oxygen mask was still on and the monitor was still beeping. A few seconds later, Doc was there beside her, leaning over the bed, his eyes looking tired, the stubble showing clearly across his face.

  “You okay?” he asked, moving his hand to the damaged side of her face.

  “My headssthrobbing … baaad …” she managed groggily.

  He took out his light and flicked it across her eyes again.

  “I’ll give you a heavier dose of the morphine now,” he said, reaching over and wheeling a drip closer to the bed. He’d obviously prepared it while she’d been sleeping. He took her hand, which she noticed already had a cannula inserted, and quickly connected her to the drip.


  “You need sleep, Doc,” she said, rolling over stiffly onto the bruised side of her body, but the good side of her head.

  “Yes, I do,” he said, as he injected the contents of a syringe into a tube that fed into her drip bag.

  “Issseveryone okay?” she asked.

  “They’re stable,” he nodded. He pulled a chair over and took a seat, placing his elbow on the side of her bed, and resting his head in his hand.

  She stared into his beautiful brown eyes for a moment. “Are we flying yet?” she asked, beginning to blink heavily as the pain relief began to envelop her.

  Doc nodded.

  She gave a half smile, “Get some sle—”

  That was all she managed, before she was out like a light.

  *

  Harris sat awkwardly in his chair. His ribs were aching pretty bad and he was starting to think it was time to take Doc up on his offer of drugs. After a successful departure from the Darwin, he was satisfied that the Aurora was on course. Packham had done a good job of coaching Brown through every step, and Brown assisted well, remembering the sequence, and keeping cool under the immense pressure he must’ve felt. As soon as they’d departed the Darwin, Harris felt a large portion of his anxiety fall by the wayside. Packham looked at Brown and smiled: “Good job, staff sergeant.” Brown, relieved, had smiled and nodded back: “You too, sergeant.”

  It was the first thing that had gone smoothly since they’d landed on the station. It was also a far cry from the scene in his office when the women thought the Aurora’s men were going to hand them over to Sharley’s crew. They’d torn down that mistrust, they’d pulled together and they’d made it out.

  He’d watched the Darwin as it disappeared from sight on the rear camera, hoping with every fibre of his being that he would never see it again. Deep down in the pit of his stomach, though, he knew that place would haunt him for years to come. After all, four of his men were now dead, and the rest of them were headed back to a UNF they didn’t know whether they could trust. And as terrifying as the Jumbos had been, facing the massive beast that was the UNF actually worried him more.

  He sighed, deciding it was time. Groaning in pain, he attempted to get out of his chair.

  “Captain!” Brown said, rushing over to help him up.

  “Thanks, Brown. You did a good job.”

  Brown nodded in appreciation, and Harris looked over at Packham, still sitting in the pilot’s chair eyeing them.

  “You too, Packham. Well done.”

  She nodded back at him.

  He looked at Brown. “You two take it in shifts now, to keep watch up here. I’ll come back and check up on you. You run into any problems, call me, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered.

  “No matter what,” he emphasized. “And stay off the comms. We fly silent until I say so.”

  They both nodded, and satisfied, he left the flight deck.

  As the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the corridor, he couldn’t help but stare at the bloodied spot where Bulk had fallen. He suddenly pictured the quiet Russian sitting at the flight deck console, sipping his piping hot coffee and staring out into the nothingness. All that serenity, he thought. And then all the chaos that ensued. He sighed again and shook his head as a heavy feeling settled into his chest that he knew had nothing to with his ribs.

  When he arrived at Doc’s office, he looked into the hospital and saw Doc bent over asleep on the side of Welles’s bed. He walked over for a closer look, eyeing the other three patients as he did, listening to make sure everything sounded alright. He reached the foot of Welles’s bed and looked at Doc again. He had both arms folded on the bed, his head resting on them. Welles was on her side facing him. Their arms were parallel, resting against each other. There was something about it that seemed a little too comfortable, a little too familiar.

  He glanced around again, then back at them. Doc was exhausted, Welles was injured and they were both sleeping. That’s all it is, he told himself. Besides, he was in too much pain to care right now. His own brain was shot to pieces with exhaustion, and his body brutally ached for some pain relief. He made his way into Doc’s examination room and began to search through the cabinet. As he fished around, his fingers accidentally clinked the bottles noisily against each other, knocking them over. After a few seconds, Doc walked into the room rubbing his face.

  “Saul. What you looking for?” he asked groggily.

  Harris looked at him. “I’m ready for the drugs now.”

  Doc nodded, yawning, and set about prepping a shot for him.

  “Not too much, Doc. I need to be able to wake up if needed.”

  His medic gave another nod, swabbed his arm, then inserted the needle. “You need to lie down and rest, Saul.”

  “I’m going to do that right now, Doc. You know, you look like you could use a bed, too. Your own bed,” Harris said, motioning back into the hospital. He wanted to let Doc know that he’d seen them.

  Doc glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Unfortunately somebody has to stay here and we’re a little down on numbers and beds.”

  “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll relieve you,” Harris said, beginning to feel relaxed as the drugs kicked in, making his ribs feel a bit lighter, too. He started making his way to the door.

  Doc called after him. “When are you going to tell Command what’s happened, and report that we’re on our way home?”

  Harris turned around. “When I’ve had some sleep and my head is clearer.”

  “They’ll be tracking us.”

  Harris nodded. “I know. But I can’t speak to them like this.”

  Doc nodded, his face a little apprehensive. He ripped the top off a sugar concentrate pack and downed it.

  Harris was pleased to finally make it back to his room. He went straight to the bathroom and washed his face and neck before moving over to his bed and easing himself down onto his back. He looked at his watch. 12:26. He lay there for a moment, trying to think about what he’d say to Command, but he couldn’t think. He was in a mixed state of total relaxation, with a tight chest and shallow breathing.

  Exhaustion swept over him rapidly and there was little time to think about Command, or even the Jazz Club Woman. He did manage, however, to briefly picture Taya and Ty in his mind, which seemed to lighten his chest that little bit more. I’m coming home … he whispered to them in his mind. The sleep came swiftly then, grabbing a firm hold and dragging him under into its blackened depths.

  *

  Harris woke abruptly. It took him a few seconds, but he realized that he was still on the Aurora, in his quarters. He looked at his watch. 16:30. Shit! Doc! He went to get out of bed and a sharp pain across his chest reminded him to take it slow. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment and focused on his breathing, noticing that he was drenched in sweat.

  His mind felt a little hazy. He wasn’t sure whether it was the remnants of the pain relief or the bizarre dream he’d just had. He’d been flopping about in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean. Set adrift and waiting to be rescued. At first Taya and Ty were sitting there with him, but they soon morphed into Sibbie and Etta. Their faces startled him again, like they always did. It suddenly made him wonder where the rest of his team were, which, of course, had violently jolted him awake.

  He made his way to Doc’s office, having just checked the flight deck, where Brown was at the controls and Packham asleep on the floor in the corner. They’d been taking it in turns and had recently swapped over, but Packham thought it best to be on hand in case something happened, which Harris had to admit he was actually relieved about.

  He entered Doc’s office and saw he was looking a little ragged.

  “How you doin’?” he asked the lieutenant.

  Doc sat back in his chair and looked at him wearily. “I’ve been better.”

  “Well, go get some rest. Take as long as you need. I’m good.” Harris walked over and st
ood on the other side of Doc’s desk and put his hands on his hips, although somewhat gingerly.

  “Need another shot?”

  Harris nodded. “A little. Not as much as you gave me last time.”

  Doc fetched what he needed and gave Harris the shot.

  “Okay,” Doc said throwing the syringe and swab away, “they should all be fine. I just topped up McKinley’s morphine and you don’t need to worry about Hunter and Colt. I’ve got their pods programmed to give them what they need. They should just sleep, except maybe Welles. If she wakes up and she needs another shot, then just grab me and I’ll come and give it to her. Just get me if anything happens, no matter how minor. Okay?” Doc said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Go get some sleep, Doc. I got this,” Harris ordered.

  The lieutenant nodded and headed for the door, stopping briefly to glance into the hospital one last time before he left.

  Harris decided to check on the four patients in the hospital and see for himself how they were doing. They were all asleep, and their monitors sounded good. McKinley’s leg didn’t look great, but it was splinted tightly. There wasn’t much Doc could do until he got to a real hospital. Hunter’s broken arm was heavily bandaged so it was hard to tell what state it was in. His bullet wounds were bandaged too, but easily spotted by the blood that had seeped through to the surface.

  Colt looked a little sicker than the two men. While they looked like they were asleep, she looked like she was in pain. She had a large bandage over her neck and shoulder, and a fair amount of blood had soaked through. Harris watched her heart monitor for a moment, but it seemed okay. He walked over to Welles’s bed and studied her. She was still on her side. From what he could see outside of the bandage, her eye and cheekbone were purple and very swollen, and she still had the bruises on her neck from the strangulation. She’d been through a lot, but she’d hung in there. She was tough, he had to give her that.

  For some reason, as he stared at Welles, Sibbie and Etta stepped delicately into his mind again. Just like they’d done when he’d been searching for her on that hidden floor; like they were guiding him to her or something. It was odd, he thought, that they were coming to him just as much outside of his dreams, as they were inside them. This hadn’t happened before. He’d physically thought of them before, recalling memories, but they’d never just appeared in his mind without his own doing. It made him curious, but more so, it made him concerned.