Firmament: Machiavellian

by J. Grace Pennington

  “Please do.” He strode down the room, sat down two chairs away from me, and tented his fingers, resting his chin on them. His frown didn’t abate as he waited for me to begin.

  It had been four months since we lost a crewman to death, and it hadn't been due to foul play. If that had upset him deeply, I could only guess how angry this development would make him.

  I cleared my throat. “Yesterday, the Doctor noticed that a drug was missing from our cabinet—scopolamine, a sedative. We brushed it off at the time, thinking it had been misplaced, but all that day we couldn’t find it. Then this morning it showed up back where it belonged. Not long after, I remembered that it can also be used as a truth serum, and since I’d heard that whoever sabotaged the tracking mechanism needed a code, I started to wonder if it might have been used on Lieutenant Unkrich to force him to tell it. Then I checked his medical records, found that he was allergic to scopolamine, and started looking for him. The Doctor, Captain Holloway and I looked in the small D-Deck storage chamber and found the Lieutenant dead in a metal crate. The autopsy was performed and my suspicions were shown to be correct—he died of anaphylactic shock, from an allergic reaction to the scopolamine. Here’s the official report.”

  I handed him the pad, with the report cued up, and exhaled a long breath. Hopefully that had been clear and precise.

  He took the pad, flipped it on, and used his forefinger to scroll over the words on the LED screen. The smooth, consistent whir had the soft comfort of a flannel blanket in the silence, and I watched his hands as he kept scrolling down. His knuckles were so much bigger than mine. They bulged out from his fingers in lined knobs, highlighting the tendons that ran over and between them.

  I turned my gaze from his fingers to his face, and watched as his eyes darted back and forth over the screen and the lines on his forehead deepened and increased.

  He finally handed it back, with the screen still glowing.

  “There’s no way you can gain insight into who was behind this, I suppose?”

  I shook my head. “We sent the scopolamine bottle to the lab, but there are no fingerprints other than ours.”

  He leaned one arm on the table and propped his head up with his fingers. He looked at me, though he seemed to be looking past my eyes into my thoughts. “The obvious solution is that our guests are to blame.”

  I nodded.

  “However,” he went on, tapping his other hand against his creased black pants, “my experience has taught me time and time again that the obvious solution is not always the best.”

  “Yes sir,” I ventured to agree.

  His gaze focused in on my eyes. “The only reason I can see for this action is that someone wanted to keep us stationary, or keep ISA from being able to tell our whereabouts.”

  I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees, and at the same time he leaned back in his chair and stared at the smooth, white ceiling. “If it was to keep us here, then it was done by someone who either doesn’t want us getting home, or doesn’t want us getting into the galactic center. If it was to hide from ISA, it was most likely done by someone who does want us to get into the galactic center. If ISA noticed that we were going there—which they would, if they could track us—they would stop us.”

  I licked my lips. “But who would want to go that far to keep ISA from finding out?” I ventured. “I mean… who would want us in there that badly?”

  He shrugged and looked at me again. “Who knows? It could be Doctor Pearson, wanting to get to his space matter… it could be Ralston or Whales, wanting to help Kainus Ge. It could be me.”

  He stood up, still looking at me with eyebrows furrowed. “Regardless, we need to keep a sharp eye on everyone. I can’t accuse our guests of something this serious without any proof. But I also can’t risk any more harm to my crew.” He thought for a moment, then spoke in a clearer, more authoritative tone. “I’ll alert security. You and Gerry take care of the dead man—I’ll see to it that his relatives are contacted.”

  As he turned to leave, I opened my mouth, hesitated, then spoke quickly. “Captain?”

  He turned back to me. I hesitated again, then resolutely voiced my question. “I’ve been wondering… if it’s okay to ask…”

  The urgent but welcoming wave of his hand spurred me to go ahead and ask.

  “Why don’t we just ask ISA about this? Don’t you think they might make an exception? If they really want us to befriend other civilizations and… and all that.”

  His posture relaxed into the more personable Captain I was used to seeing at the bar or over a game of checkers with Guilders and the Doctor.

  “I’ve thought about that. The problem is, Andi… the politics. It’s not as simple as asking if we can go and getting the go-ahead. They’ll be tied up in red tape and discussions and debates for months. Probably years. While the real people back on that planet are living and dying. They haven’t been there. They don’t know the situation. I do.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked past me for a moment. Then his face hardened into its firm, Captain expression again. “Sometimes it’s better all around to ask forgiveness instead of permission.”

  This time I let him turn and walk out of the room, and I remained sitting with the pad in my hands, mulling over his words.

  *****

  The Doctor and I sat alone at dinner that night, silently eating Almira’s delicious fish and potatoes. He kept his eyes on his food and took meticulously-timed bites, which I took to mean that he was deep in thought.

  I pulled the fish apart flake by flake with my fork and ate in tiny bites, wishing that we could talk about something.

  Something that did not involve the galactic enter and Napoleon and his party.

  But he didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, so we ate the whole meal in silence.

  After dinner I said goodnight and went to my room. It was seven o’clock, much too early for bed, but I had no tasks and everyone I knew was still busy, so I curled up on my bed with my reader and scrolled through the list of books to find something to read.

  I picked a novel Olive had recommended, one of my rare fiction downloads, and started reading. A few chapters of the sappy romance proved that Olive’s taste in reading was quite different from mine, and I switched to a dissertation about quantum mechanics.

  A couple hours of reading started to weigh my eyelids down with sleepiness, and I put down the book to ready myself for bed.

  Without anything to distract them, my thoughts shot back to the biodiversity motivator and all that it might mean. Images from my dream flashed vividly in my mind, pictures of Elasson gasping for breath in the hot sand.

  I wanted something better for his people.

  And how bad could it really be to go into the galactic center?

  “It’s not like it’s wrong,” I said aloud to myself, letting my voice fill the silent cabin. There was nothing sinful about it. Where did the Bible say “Thou shalt not enter the galactic center”?

  I knew enough to know this was ridiculous logic—no logic at all, really. Of course it wouldn’t say that. But it did say to help and to love others, to assist the needy and give to those who had less than we did. It said to love our neighbor as ourselves. Those people on Kainus Ge were just as much our neighbors as anyone on Earth. Shouldn’t we help them?

  I knew what the Doctor would say—“It’s against the law.” But—there were wrong laws sometimes. True, there was nothing really wrong about the law against registered vessels entering the center, but then there was nothing really right about it either. Was there?

  Did I really know enough about it to even have an opinion on it?

  I sighed, and rubbed my head, which began to throb with a rhythmic ache. The Doctor and the Captain seemed to both be right. But they couldn’t both be right. Could they?

  I grabbed hold of my blankets and yanked them up, then crawled underneath them and settled my head on the soft down pillow. “Lights off,” I o
rdered, and the room blinked into darkness.

  My eyes adjusted until I could see the familiar starlight sifting through the porthole, and I watched it sleepily. A good night’s sleep would help.

  Without warning, the image of Unkrich’s dead face appeared in my mind and I shut my eyes reflexively. Then I opened them again. I had seen plenty of dead bodies before, a lot of them more gruesome than that. Why had this one bothered me so much?

  I shook the picture out of my mind. No. I’d think of something else. I fished my mind for happier thoughts and turned up memories of the warm, sweet-smelling galley, with Almira cooking away cheerfully, her arms buried in puffy bread dough, her ever-messy apron tied around her middle. I smiled in the dark. I should get up early tomorrow morning and help her with breakfast. Yes, that would be nice… help get my mind off things… and Almira would like it…

  I woke up suddenly, jerked out of a sleep I didn’t even remember falling into.

  What had awakened me? I blinked in the drifting starlight, trying to remember.

  A beep. I’d heard a beep. My wristcom.

  Turning over groggily, I groped on my nightstand for it. For a second I only felt cool metal, then my fingers found the plastic band and pulled it towards me. I sleepily examined the LED screen.

  An alert—like a page. It wasn’t a call, someone had just beeped to get my attention. Since it had stopped, I had no idea who it was. The tiny, standardized device didn’t hold a missed call history.

  I fell back onto the bed, trying to brush the incident off as unimportant. Someone had accidentally dialed the wrong frequency, no doubt, and then had realized their mistake and cut off the page. Nothing serious. It wasn’t anything I needed to worry about.

  Probably not.

  But probably wasn’t good enough for a medical officer. With a soft groan I sat up again and pushed myself out of bed, feeling like gravity had increased.

  I slipped on my dressing gown and stumbled out of the room. As I moved down the dull hall wondering what action to take, I tried to think who might have accidentally called me. The only people who had called me yesterday were the Doctor and August. Either of them might still have my frequency in their coms.

  I started for the Doctor’s room, which was next to mine. He always slept with his quarters unlocked, in case someone needed him in an emergency, so I opened the door and peered in.

  The soft glow of the starlight showed him sleeping peacefully on his bed, and I could hear his breathing, deep and regular. Nothing out of order here.

  Letting the door close, I turned and started for the elevator to go down to D-Deck, where August’s quarters were. I felt like I was in a dream, silently slipping down the long, dim corridor of doors, wondering if I was way overreacting to a small accident.

  When I came to August’s door, I hesitated, my finger hovering over the door chime on the left wall. I didn’t want to wake him if there was nothing wrong. But if there was?

  Breathing deeply, I touched the button and waited, listening for the sound of footsteps and the swish of the door sliding open.

  Nothing.

  My chest tightened slightly for the first time. Tapping the smooth keypad, I entered my emergency medical code and let the door slide open. As it did, a tiny gust of air rushed past me into the room, making me shiver.

  This cabin was darker than the Doctor’s, since it was on the inside of the ship and had no porthole. The only light was the little bit that spilled in from the hall behind me.

  It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, the first thing I saw was that August was in his bed and my heart calmed for a second.

  But only for a second.

  As my vision became clearer, I saw that one of his arms hung over the side of the bed, as did his legs, as if he’d tried t get up and couldn’t. I took a few steps closer and heard that his breathing was ragged and uneven.

  “August!” I cried, and rushed forward. He didn’t respond as I jumped to his side, and I saw that his eyes were closed. “August! Lights on,” I all but screamed, reaching for my wristcom. I’d left it in my room. With shaking fingers I grabbed his off the floor next to his bed and dialed for the Doctor.

  “Doctor!” I cried into the speaker, “Something’s wrong with August, come quickly!”

  For a moment there was no reply, then the Doctor’s sleep-graveled voice murmured, “Be right there.”

  I dropped the com and gripped August’s hand. It was cold, and in the new light I saw that his nailbeds were a dark, unnatural blue.

  Chapter XI

  I gasped and dropped his hand. Cyanosis—his blood pressure must have dropped dangerously low to rid him of oxygen that seriously. I frantically felt the back of his neck for his pulse, shuddering at the coldness of his skin. I felt the blood pulse, then braced myself for a frighteningly long wait to the next pulse.

  Instead, it followed upon the heels of the previous beat almost before it had finished. My jaw fell open as I continued pressing my fingers to his neck. His blood was pumping almost too rapidly to be counted.

  I jerked my hand away from his skin, mind racing. How could an increased heart rate possibly cause him to become cyanotic?

  I wanted to scream for the Doctor, and reached for August’s wristcom again, but before I touched it I heard footsteps running down the hall and the Doctor appeared in the doorway. He didn’t stop. Rushing in, he gently pushed me aside.

  “What happened?” he asked, stooping to lift August into his arms.

  “I don’t know… I heard my wristcom beep and came in here to check on him. I found him like this.” Quick, deep breaths made it hard to talk, and my heart beat so quickly that cold tremors spread down my arms and legs, making them feel wobbly. I sucked in deep breaths to try to calm myself. Be okay, August…

  While I was still speaking, the Doctor started out of the room and down the hall. I ran to keep up with him, letting the adrenaline propel me. “He’s dangerously cyanotic, Doctor, but—”

  He interrupted me. “Run on ahead and get a monitor powered up.”

  I sped up and sprinted for the elevator.

  When I reached sickbay I jumped to the nearest cot and powered up its monitor, as ordered. It took a moment for it to boot up, and I bit my lip as I waited. When the home screen finally blinked onto it, I turned to the doorway, heart still pounding uncontrollably.

  The Doctor stepped in as I looked, still carrying the pale, limp form in his arms. I was surprised at the strength that allowed him to dart forward and lay August on the cot I’d prepared.

  I looked at my brother as the Doctor turned to the monitor. In the bright, stark lights of sickbay, his skin looked even bluer than it had in his quarters.

  The monitor beeped warningly, and I watched as the EKG line wobbled across the screen. It spiked high and rapidly, though I noticed that already his pulse was slower than what it had been in the cabin.

  Mumbling to himself, the Doctor switched tabs on the screen and stared at the blood pressure indicator. It jumped around, but remained in a very high range, much higher than August’s usual.

  He frowned.

  “That’s what I was going to tell you,” I hastened, clasping my hands together to stop them from shaking. “I checked his pulse in the room and it was even faster.”

  Furrowing his brows, the Doctor leaned down and used his thumb to pull August’s eyelid up and examine the dull brown eye beneath. “He needs oxygen. Get it ready.”

  I hurried to the oxygen machine and got the connections ready while the Doctor again lifted August and carried him to the cot nearest the device. I stiffened each muscle in my hands to keep my fingers from trembling as I helped connect the tubes to August’s mouth and nose. Then I stepped back, breathing deeply, while the Doctor started the machine.

  August’s chest rose and fell perceptively, and I studied his face carefully. His face was already looking less blue. I licked my dry lips as the Doctor backed up next to me, keeping his eyes locked on Au
gust’s monitor.

  “How severe was the shock, Doctor?”

  He didn’t look at me as he answered. “Severe enough that if you’d been ten minutes later it could have been too late. His heart’s not strong enough for this.”

  He must have sensed the shiver that ran through my body, because he reached out and took my hand in his thin, cool one and squeezed it.

  “How could he…” I began.

  “Hush, Andi. Right now we just need to help him. Get me two milligrams of midazolam.”

  I rushed to do as bidden, trying to force my mind not to dwell on the horror of how close I’d come to losing my brother.

  After the Doctor had administered the sedative, he asked me to watch August while he went to alert the Captain of what had happened. I sat on the cot across from where my brother lay, watching as his breathing gradually returned to normal, and listening to the faint buzz of the Doctor’s voice as he explained to the Captain over his wristcom.

  I reached out and touched the back of August’s hand with my fingers, noting with gladness that it was no longer so icy cold. I lifted it and examined his nailbeds. They had a definite purple hue, but they were no longer quite so dark.

  I laid his hand back down and continued watching him.

  How could an increased heart rate cause cyanosis and shock?

  It couldn’t. That made no sense at all.

  So something else, some outside force, must have caused both the increased blood flow and the cyanosis.

  I stood up. “Dad…” I said, too quietly for him to hear me.

  He didn’t. I picked up a few of the words he muttered into his wristcom. “Oxygen for awhile…monitor…don’t understand…”

  I looked down at August again, watching the pink tinge slowly flush back into his cheeks.

  Thank you, Lord, for protecting him. I’d been praying it in the back of my mind for the last hour, and now I pushed it to the front. Thank you.

  The Doctor stopped talking, lowered his wristcom, and walked back down the room to stand beside me. “I’ll need to run some tests on him…”