by Mark Anson
Clare looked back blankly, her eyes wide. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, if I was you, I’d go see Donahue when we get back. And if you’re still feeling the need to spill everything, talk to her. She’s bound by patient confidentiality.’
Clare’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted to do was face Donahue’s questioning. But Gray was right. If there was any chance that Coombes hadn’t used a condom, she needed to see her, and quickly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘And you say you have no memory beyond that?’ Donahue stared intently at the younger woman. It was late afternoon the same day, and Clare had finally summoned up the courage to face the medical officer.
Clare shook her head slowly.
‘Right.’ Donahue’s manner became brisk, clinical. ‘I’ll need to examine you and take some swabs. Did he penetrate you anally as well?’
‘I – I think so. I don’t remember. I’m – sore there, so he may have.’
‘And you’ve had a shower? You’ve cleaned yourself?’
Clare nodded. ‘I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted everything – out of me.’
‘Yes. Unfortunately that isn’t going to help.’ Donahue sighed. ‘Our testing facilities here are very limited. We’ve got a rape test kit, but it needs a good sample for a positive result. Anything less than that, and the sample has to be frozen and sent back to Earth. There might be something there, but I won’t be able to analyse it here.’
Clare closed her eyes and hung her head.
‘Look,’ Donahue put her hand on Clare’s shoulder. ‘what’s worrying me much more is the fact you can’t recall what happened. Let’s say we find his semen on you. What does it prove? That you had sex. We need to prove that it was against your consent. And if you have no memory, if you can’t relate exactly what you said, what he said, what he did, then you’ve got no defence. And if he took pictures, or heaven help you, if he took a movie, you’re in trouble.’
‘A movie?’ Clare looked up, her face aghast.
‘You don’t know what he did.’ Donahue’s face was hard, professional. You have no memory for a –’ she consulted her notes ‘– a seven-hour period. He could have done anything to you, and you don’t know if you were resisting or not.’
‘What about all these?’ Clare pulled up her sleeve, showed Donahue the bruises again.
‘Well, that does help your story, but only if you can describe exactly what happened, and you can’t.’ Donahue looked thoughtful for a moment, and tapped her fingers on the table. ‘Seven hours; that’s a very long gap. And you had two beers? Okay. That’s unlikely to have caused any significant memory loss, so we have to consider drugs. Did he administer anything to you?’
‘What?’
‘Did he give you anything? A drink. A tablet. Anything.’
‘He brought me the beers in the galley. If he gave me anything after that, I can’t remember.’
‘Okay, I’d like to take a blood sample as well, if you’re okay with that. I’m not holding out a lot of hope – it’s been a long time since last night. But if he’s given you something, it might show up.’
Donahue returned from the adjoining room as Clare was putting her clothes back on again. She had a printout in her hand.
‘I’ll give you the bad news first,’ she said as she sat down. ‘No trace of any of the regular drugs that we test for. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t give you anything; there are any number of things he could have given you that break down very quickly and won’t show.
‘No signs of any vaginal trauma and no semen result there, but as you said, you’ve had a shower. You have some signs of a forcible penetration of your anus, which should heal quickly, and as you know I’ve taken a photograph. The rectal swabs tested positive for semen, so I’m afraid it looks like he didn’t use a condom.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll give you a morning-after pill just to be completely on the safe side.’
Clare closed her eyes and breathed out furiously from between clenched teeth.
‘The good news – you have no alcohol at all in your bloodstream, so working back, it’s unlikely you were drunk, and it supports your story of two beers. You have a number of minor bruises to your arms, legs and body that could be consistent with a struggle, two faint rope marks on your wrists that suggest you were restrained at some point, and several bite marks on your body.’
She dropped the printout onto the table. ‘It’s not much. I have to be honest with you. If you took this to a complaint, there is some medical evidence that you did not consent, but unless you can relate exactly what happened, you wouldn’t survive a competent cross-examination by his defence.’
‘So that’s it. He can just do what he wants to women on this ship, and he gets away with it.’ Clare felt sick. The examination had been humiliating, and Donahue’s probing fingers had made her sore again.
‘I wouldn’t say that. Obviously you’ll avoid him. I have to caution you against spreading anything that could be considered defamatory against another officer without hard evidence, otherwise you could be the subject of a complaint yourself.’
‘What?’
‘Listen to me carefully.’ Donahue’s voice was firm, but her eyes were sympathetic. ‘You cannot go around saying things about fellow officers in the confined environment on board this ship. It will get back to Coombes and he could easily bring a serious complaint. If that happens, you will both be suspended, you will be shipped back home on separate flights, and you will go through the legal process on Earth. If you can’t prove a case against him, you’ll be lucky to avoid being discharged.’
Clare’s eyes blazed, but she kept her mouth firmly closed.
Donahue watched her reaction carefully before continuing: ‘Look, I know this is hard, but you seem to be pretty smart. You’re going to be angry about this for a very long time. But think about your career. He’s a weather officer. You’re a pilot. You might both be first lieutenants now, but you’ve got more opportunities to make captain in the next few years than he has. Then he’s the one who’ll be worried for his career. You’ll get your chance to get back at him, sometime in the future.’
‘I can’t just stand by –’ Clare began, and this time she found herself fighting back the tears, ‘– and let this rapist get away with it.’
‘I am very sorry,’ Donahue said, and her voice seemed to say that she meant it, ‘but I’ve got to tell you how it is.’ She stood up and went over to the drugs cabinet, unlocked it and busied herself tearing off strips of pills for a few moments, letting Clare compose herself. ‘Here, take these,’ she said, coming back. ‘These two are the morning-after pills – take one immediately, then the other one in twelve hours’ time. These are some mild sedatives if you have trouble sleeping – take one half an hour before you go to bed. Don’t take them within ten hours of flying.’
Clare nodded and stood up. She was looking thoughtful.
‘Why did you warn me about Coombes the other day?’
Donahue looked her in the eye. ‘I deny having said anything like that to you about Lieutenant Coombes,’ she said carefully and precisely, ‘and I would stick to that if I was questioned.’
‘Wait a minute. What you said to me—’
‘What you allege I said to you.’
‘Okay, whatever. You wouldn’t have said it if there hadn’t been some reason. Has he done something like this before?’
‘You know very well I can’t answer that sort of question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients waiting.’
Clare stood there, glowering at her, but she had the sense to keep her mouth shut. Donahue had done her best to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. It wasn’t her fault. Clare turned to go.
Behind her, Donahue said: ‘I’ve got a job to do here, Foster, but I’m also in the Corps, and we try to look after our own. And that’s all I can say.’
‘Yes ma’am. Thank you.’
After Clare had closed the door behind her, Donahue sat there for a few moments, typing up her notes.
She seemed to hesitate over some sections, as if searching for the right words. Finally, she was done, and she sighed and drew a deep breath, before buzzing for the next patient to come through.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Clare leaned her head against the bulkhead wall in her cabin. How could she have been so stupid?
She could hear her parents’ voices now. Wasting yourself on a career in the Astronautics Corps. And now this; throwing yourself at the first man to smile at you after you’d landed. You deserve what happened to you.
No, no, no! She banged her head against the wall in anger and frustration. She did not deserve it! She might feel humiliated, and, and – used, yes, that was the word, but she never deserved what Coombes had meted out to her.
What a difference two days could make! Then, she had been lying in here, thinking how great it was to belong. Now, she just felt that the Corps had let her down. She unpinned her silver insignia from her collar and threw them onto the bed.
Remembering Donahue’s words, she popped out one of the morning-after pills, filled a cup with water from the faucet and swallowed the pill down, then went and stood by the window. She drank a few more mouthfuls from the cup. The water made her feel a bit better; she must have been thirsty.
Damn Coombes! How dare he do this to her? Her anger just wouldn’t abate. She wanted to go and rip his head off. Or better still, stand up next to him in the galley and shout out what he had done to her.
Listen everyone, this jerk drugged me and then he tied me up, and fucked me in the ass!
They’d probably just look up and then carry on eating, she thought with a sinking feeling. Especially if it was steak night. How quaint was that.
No, if she wanted her own back on Coombes, it would have to be in terms he would understand. It would have to be her getting control over him.
An hour later, there was a knock on the door.
‘Yeah, who is it?’
‘It’s me. Lorna.’
Clare opened the door. ‘Come on in.’
‘Thanks.’ Gray stepped inside and closed the door behind her. ‘I came by to see how you were doing.’
Clare shrugged. ‘So-so.’
‘I figured you would be. Did you go see Donahue?’
‘Yep.’
Gray raised her eyebrows expectantly.
‘And I told her what I told you.’
‘And …? Look, if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing this out of you.’
‘I’m sorry. Come and sit down.’ Clare took a deep breath, and told Gray everything that Donahue had said. When she had finished, Gray fished a flask out from under her flight overalls, and reached for two cups.
‘Well, here’s my prescription. Strictly against regulations, but then, what’s happened to you isn’t in regulations either.’ She poured two generous measures and handed one cup to Clare, who eyed the clear liquid.
‘What is it?’
‘Let’s just say it’s home-grown. Cheers.’ Gray gulped hers down, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clare followed.
An explosion of fierce heat erupted in her throat, and she coughed. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Tears formed in her eyes. A warm feeling spread through her, but it felt like she had swallowed some petroleum distillate.
‘What the fuck is that?’ she gasped finally.
‘Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies. At least it won’t kill you.’
‘Are you sure?’ Clare said, and the two of them collapsed in fits of suppressed laughter.
‘I think,’ Clare said eventually, ‘I think that I’m going to follow your advice and not report this bastard.’
Gray nodded her approval.
‘But …’
‘Oh God, there’s a but.’ Gray fell back on Clare’s bed, ‘What is it? Surprise me.’
‘Well. Supposing I wise up like you said, and don’t report anything, but keep away from Coombes. He’ll know what’s happened. Won’t he just try the same thing again with the next trainee aboard?’
‘Hell, that won’t be your problem, sister.’
‘But it will!’ Clare looked at Gray. ‘I’d be letting someone else fall into the same trap. How would you feel if you were the next victim of his little game, but I’d kept my mouth shut and let you find out on your own?’
Gray lifted her hands and dropped them. ‘I don’t know. Look, I don’t have all the answers. Anyway,’ she looked at Clare suspiciously, ‘what could you do about it?’
Clare went to stand by the window. From here she could see the sunset. How different it looked to that evening when she had been promoted.
‘Oh no,’ Gray said. ‘No, no, no. You are not planning some sort of stupid scheme to deal with Coombes on your own. Please tell me you’re not thinking about that.’
Clare said nothing.
‘Oh no. She really is planning some mad scheme to make First Lieutenant Coombes regret the day he met her. Please tell me this isn’t happening,’ she asked of the ceiling.
‘I need to teach him a lesson’
‘Helloooo, court martial.’
‘If I don’t try, he’ll do it to someone else.’
‘You’ll be busted back to second lieutenant.’
‘If I don’t try, I won’t be able to live with myself!’ Clare shouted to the window, and Gray sat up.
‘Well, that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say all day.’
Clare turned back to her. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Yep. Sure do. I still think you’re stupid, mind. But it’s the only sensible reason for risking your career to go after him.’
Clare managed a smile. ‘Thanks. That makes me feel better.’
‘I’ve got plenty more wisdom where that came from.’ Gray waved the flask.
‘I might take you up on that.’ Clare proffered her cup, and Gray reached forward.
‘Listen, this scheme of yours, does it involve me?’ Gray said as she shared it out between their two cups, until there was nothing left in the flask.
‘We-ell … you might have to stand lookout for me for a few minutes. But I don’t think anybody will disturb us.’
Gray waved her hands in a sign of resignation. ‘I must really want to ruin my career. Okay, so what are you thinking of doing?’
‘I haven’t thought it all through yet.’
‘Yes you have. Don’t hold out on me, okay? Because I’m going to have to rescue your sorry ass when it all goes wrong.’
Clare looked back at her and grinned. ‘Look, I don’t have all the answers. But he told me something the other day that’s given me an idea.’
Gray shook her head and sighed. ‘I must be mad. I must really, truly be mad just to listen to you. And I’m still doing it. So go on, tell me your idea.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two days later, Clare was in the crew ready room, putting away her equipment, when her comlink beeped.
‘Lieutenant Foster,’ she answered automatically, without glancing at the number.
‘Foster, this is Captain Hartigan here.’ His voice sounded distorted and tinny; he must be somewhere on the other side of the planet, she thought.
‘Hello sir, how are you?’ She was pleased to hear from him; she had been missing Hartigan’s friendly voice over the last few days. Once or twice she had been on the verge of calling him, but had decided against it.
‘Fine. I’m still up here waiting. There’s been a change of plan – the Denver isn’t going on to Mars – they’ve got a problem so they’re going back to Earth, and the next incoming flight’s going to do the Mars trip instead, so I’ve got to hang about and help move the crews over.’ There was a pause, and Clare realised he wanted to talk. ‘Are you somewhere where you can speak?’
She glanced round her. There were only two other pilots around, but she knew how busy the ready room could suddenly get during air operations. ‘Actually sir, I’ll take this call in my cabin if that’s okay – can I c
all you back in a couple of minutes?’
‘Sure.’ Hartigan clicked off, and she flung her flight helmet into her locker and banged it shut, and set off down the lower corridor and up the stairs towards the upper deck.
She went back to her cabin via the galley and picked up a mug of coffee, and a minute or so later, she kicked the door of her cabin shut behind her and sat down on the bed.
She thumbed the comlink’s keypad.
‘Hello sir, I’m back with you now.’
‘Ah, Foster, thanks for calling back.’ Hartigan’s voice sounded clearer this time. ‘So how’s the training going?’
‘I’m getting better at catching the wire. Very tricky at first.’
‘Yeah. Well, we’ve all had to do our first circuits and it’s not easy. Even the most experienced pilot needs to practise it every day to stay current. How are you finding the Frigate to fly?’
‘It’s good sir. Very manoeuvrable. Gets blown about a bit on the approach, like you said it would.’
‘What have you done so far? Circuits?’
‘Yes sir, and I’ve done some engine-out drills, and some navigation exercises – getting further and further away from the carrier each time.’
‘How are they treating you on board?
‘Very well sir. Everyone’s made me feel really welcome.’ She felt faintly sick at grinding out the words, and a flash of anger and hatred rose up, making her choke off the last word. Hartigan must have heard it, because there was a pause before he asked:
‘Is everything all right, Foster?’
‘Yes sir, of course it is.’ She tried to sound as bright as she could.
‘Because if something’s up, you can talk to me in confidence, you know. I’m not your commanding officer at the moment.’
‘No sir.’ She toyed with the prospect of telling him after all, but some sixth sense told her not to. Instead, she changed the subject: ‘Where are you docked now while you’re waiting?’
‘On the Denver, but I’m pushed back now, holding position while they try a reactor restart.’
