"Angry like you feel there's no justice in this world? Angry like the universe needs balancing? Angry like you want to get even?
"Yes."
"I think I can help you, Tom."
Six
After he left the water plant, Stellan couldn't shake the feeling that Agent Skinner had won something. There was this feeling, somewhere deep within his mind, like a voice, telling him the game was already over. Or perhaps he was playing a part in Skinner's story, something she'd already seen in her mind and written. The ending was merely a destination, and they just had to get there. With the way things were going, he didn't think he would like the ending very much.
However, Stellan didn't believe any one person had the ability to see all the angles and predict an outcome with certainty, especially when it came to humans, who were utterly unpredictable. He thought even she had use for luck, and maybe that luck would change.
He likened it to hand-to-hand combat. As he had shown Wendy earlier that wake cycle, people project their actions before they move. Attacks can be broken down into stages, and the first stage is always a preparation. The turn of a shoulder indicates a fist is coming your way. A step forward, a bent knee, and a turning hip might be a kick. Although, that foresight relied on physical observation and had limits of what you could see.
While a person was predictable, people were not. There were too many variables when multiple humans began to interact, and he knew fighting a crowd was much different than fighting one man. At some point, though, it was still prioritizing attackers and watching one movement at a time. Only defensive maneuvers mattered. It was less looking for openings in an opponent's defense and more feigning openings to get attackers to commit and fall into traps.
Fighting was a mind game, a game of chess in dance form.
Yet, he'd already played into Skinner’s hands. Perhaps she could see beyond his movements; perhaps she knew what he would do before he did. That scared him, and the water treatment plant hadn't been the first time. No, he couldn't pinpoint it in his mind, but like that voice, deep in his unconscious thoughts, a feeling suggested she'd used him once before. He just couldn't figure out when or where.
The more important question was, to what end? She'd called him away, turned his gaze toward one of the most important parts of the ship. Why? Like a magician, with a sleight of hand, she worked while their attention was directed somewhere else. Only, he was sure she wasn't in it for innocent entertainment.
Stellan couldn't admit defeat, yet he had to admit she'd pulled one over on him. He was angry with himself and knew he would have to get ahead of her if he hoped to keep the Atlas safe. That much he knew for sure.
When he got back to the security deck, Stellan found security officer Floyd Coulson dozing with his feet up on his desk, his hands clasped over his round belly, which trembled with each snore. Stellan had hired Floyd simply because of how nice the guy was. With no prior experience in law enforcement or anything relevant, the man was soft. But that didn't matter because the crew on the Atlas rarely got out of hand, and Floyd performed mostly administrative duties. Since Stellan believed in symbols, he simply needed bodies to wear the uniform and appear around the ship. Actually, most of his men were little more than autonomous sentries with basic weapons safety training. They knew how to handle a weapon without hurting themselves, but they didn't know how to use it to hurt others.
Regardless, it didn't mean he could allow Floyd to sleep on the job.
Stellan walked into the office and tapped the soles of Floyd's shoes, meaning only to wake the man, but Floyd's feet must have been precariously close to the edge of the desk. The gentle nudge was enough to push his feet off the desk, and before they hit the ground, Floyd's butt slid off the chair and onto the steel deck.
"Whoa!" Floyd yelled, instantly awakened.
His chair rolled backward and slammed into another chair, spinning around each other like long-lost lovers.
Floyd lay still on the deck for a moment. Stellan bent to help him up, and Floyd waved him off.
"I'm fine," he said. "Just my pride." The old man sat up and rubbed his lower back with a grimace. "If I didn't have so much padding back there, I reckon I might have broke something." He attempted to stand and cried out. "I'm not convinced I didn't."
"That's what you get for sleeping on the job," Stellan said, offering Floyd a helping hand. This time, he took it, even though his eyes told Stellan he was too proud.
"I know, I know," Floyd said, looking down at his link for the time. "I'm sorry. I closed my eyes for a minute to rest 'em, and, well, that must have been an hour ago." He smiled innocently.
"That's all right," Stellan said, flopping into a chair with a sigh.
Floyd looked to Stellan with concern. "What's wrong?"
"There was a fire in the water plant."
"Oh my," Floyd said. "Anyone hurt? Was the plant damaged?"
"Everything's fine. Minor damage to one of the walkways. The odd part is it seemed like whoever set the fire wanted only to draw attention, not to do any actual damage."
"Any suspects?"
"One," Stellan said. "By the way, I won't be in the office much the rest of this run. You know that Council agent? The Captain asked me to keep an eye on her, and I'll be asking everyone to keep their eyes peeled as well. You haven't seen her around, have you?"
"Nah," Floyd said. "I wish she'd shake her fine tail around here. Hey, maybe we could give her a tour! Then you might be able to introduce me."
"When I see her, I'll find out if she's interested."
"Well, that would be mighty direct."
"In a tour, Floyd."
"Oh, of course."
Stellan remembered he had Tom in lockup, and he checked the time on his link. It had been a few hours since he'd left, and he was sure Tom was still asleep. He decided to check in on him anyway.
He could see the light in the holding room was still off, as he'd left it. From where he sat, nothing had changed, so he could have assumed Tom still lay in his cell. Stellan wasn't much of the type to assume.
"Where you going?" Floyd asked when Stellan stood. "You just sat down. Put your feet up. Take a load off for a while. Trust me. It's highly underrated."
"Lethargy is the tide of the mind," Stellan said. "My father used to say that. To be honest, I could use some sleep, but one thing my dad always taught me was to do things as I think of them. That way, I'll never forget to do anything. As long as my mind never moves faster than my legs, that is. Though, that's never been a problem for me."
Stellan smiled, and Floyd returned the expression. At the thought of sleep, Stellan swore he could hear the screams and the first hints of his dreams rising, but they quickly receded. The fear that he was losing his mind lingered.
"I prefer to make to-do lists. Unfortunately, I always seem to misplace 'em!" Floyd said with a hearty chuckle.
Stellan walked toward the back of the security deck between the rows of desks his men would occupy when they weren't on patrol. It pleased him that they were all empty except for Floyd's. With everyone on edge, they needed to be at their posts.
As he approached, his mind again whispered a prediction, and he didn't like what it had to say. He didn't believe what it had to say, and in spite of that feeling, he picked up speed into a faster, more determined walk until he reached the door to the holding rooms, where he peered through the porthole window into Tom's cell.
Tom wasn't there.
Stellan turned, angry again. "Where's Tom?" he growled.
"Who?" Floyd's brow folded in confusion.
"Tom Foster," Stellan said. "I had him in D cell."
"I didn't see a report." Floyd hurriedly flipped through reports on his workstation.
Stellan had cause to be angry with himself again. No matter how hard he tried to help people, even when he did the right thing, events continued to unfold into disappointment. Daelen had been right about that.
"I didn't file one."
Floyd shrugged and closed the w
indows on his workstation, pleased to again be at rest.
"Maybe one of the other officers let him out. I've been pretty hard at work," Floyd said with a wink. Then he squinted in recollection. "Although, I think I've heard some footfalls come and go. Probably just some of the other guys."
It was just as well. Stellan didn't have time for a guy like Tom Foster while there was a Council agent aboard his ship. Tom had probably sobered up or was passed out by now, and he wouldn't be a danger to anyone else.
"Strange, though," Floyd said, with a look of wonder and strain of recollection. "Maybe Daelen came looking for you because, now that I think about it, I remember the tapping of a woman's heels."
Seven
Thomas Foster had always found the darkness cooler than the light. The absence of illumination suggested an absence of heat. He understood the two were connected in nature, but he also understood the Atlas was nothing if not unnatural.
The walls in his residence did not radiate light. When the Council agent released him from the holding cell on the security deck, he had returned here and chose not to turn his lights on, but the accent lighting from his bathroom produced a faint blue glow that reflected off the floor and walls like a thin sheet of ice. He rubbed his cheek with frosty fingertips.
The haze of his hangover was beginning to settle, yet dizziness made him reach for the wall beside his bed. Curled over, he felt he might vomit again. He couldn't remember how many times his stomach had purged its contents because it had become so routine. Each retch was the same as the last, dry and painful.
The wall felt warm and comforting, like the exhaust grill of a gravity crane as it fell into slumber. He envied the thought because he couldn't sleep.
The weight of the handgun in his lap dug into his thighs, and it felt dead, like a severed arm, bent at the elbow, with rigor mortis settling in. His mind blazed with the thought of it in his possession. Exhausted as he was, the racing thoughts were beyond his control.
The edge of his bed was unforgiving, and numbness had set into his buttocks. If he didn't know better, he would have felt the gun was a part of him then. It would fit naturally in his hand, like it belonged there, though he dared not take it. He was aware the power alcohol had over him, and he feared the gun might take hold of him if he picked it up properly, as if the grip would extend long fingers that could wrap around his wrist in a friendly salutation.
He only dared trace the chassis with his clammy, dead-feeling fingers, circling the barrel, pinching the front sight and flicking the safety off and on.
Confusion veiled his mind. Tom felt like a bullet fired from a gun. He knew what he wanted to do. It would feel just. Something had already sent him on the path, pushing him forward, closer toward making a decision.
He flicked the safety off.
Like that first drink of the night, the logical, reasonable part of his mind fought against the compulsion to take this path, digging its fingernails into the floor of a narrow corridor as something dragged it toward certain damnation.
He flicked the safety on.
He was used to being scorned, and Stellan was responsible for that. Stellan singled him out when all he was trying to do was cope with the life they all led, their monotonous journey through the endless black. They all had their way of dealing with that life, and so what if drinking was his? He never hurt anyone.
He flicked the safety off.
Tom sighed. He needed a drink.
He flicked the safety on and slid the gun under his pillow for safekeeping. He patted the pillow as he stood and walked to the door. He turned back toward the bed, looking almost longingly toward his hidden treasure.
It would be so easy, but that compulsion inside told him the time wasn't right.
Tom left his room then, with the handgun hidden, conscious that he had decided nothing. Somewhere deep down, he knew he had.
It pulled harder when he tried to not think about killing Stellan Lund.
Eight
As the Atlas barreled toward the line that marked the deepest any carrier had ever run, Pierce wished he could see it. Because of the nature of travelling faster than light, the Atlas wouldn't allow the use of the monitors on the bridge to look outside the ship. Even if the Atlas' systems would have allowed it, they would have only seen a blur of starlight. It splashed around them, and it would have been impossible to make anything out. So they had to rely on Navigator Evans to tell them when they would cross it, and even that would be an estimate because the ship didn't strictly exist in any one location.
That didn't stop Pierce from yearning for it, though. It was a curiosity he hadn't experienced in a long time, like the excitement of a child in a toy store, unsure of what he will get but knowing something will come to him. He supposed they all felt that way.
"Approaching the line, Captain," Evans said, his chair partially vacated because of how far he leaned forward. A bright red window expanded at the front of the spherical room, hovering in front of Pierce's platform, challenging him. In white letters, it notified them that the Atlas was approaching unsecured space.
"So it seems," Pierce said, waving the notification away. "Arlo, how's my ship?"
"Board's green. I think she's eager to get out there."
"Atlas was a he," Evans said.
"How many times do we have to go through this?" Arlo said. "Regardless of a ship's name, it's always female."
"Why?"
"Because you treat a woman with respect. You care for her. You love her."
"And you can't care for or respect a man?"
"Both of you," Pierce said, "shut it. It's just a ship."
"Yes, but is it a little boy ship or a little girl ship? When it goes to a public restroom, what's on the door?" Arlo asked.
Evans snickered, and then his eyes lit up. He shushed them. "We're about to cross!"
Pierce thought of a mouse emerging from its hole, sticking its nose out reticently, scanning the room, and then making a break for it. The difference was they weren't taking the time to look around. They were bursting through the wall with such intensity that it would shatter.
"We should be on the other side now," Evans said, and the air became still as they all held their breath, waiting for something to grab them from the depths of space.
Nothing happened.
They exhaled and smiled. Some of the department heads cheered. For a moment, Pierce allowed himself to think everything would be all right. He thought the risk they took on this run, even though they had no other choice, would pay off. The Council agent was not there to sabotage their ship, and they might even get a mention in the history books for bringing the first shipment of this alien material back to New Earth. He might even make commander and be given his own explorer ship and make this sort of experience, this kind of rush, a routine.
However, the attack came from within, and Pierce never again made the mistake of thinking such foolish thoughts.
Chapter 3: A Long Walk
One
The Atlas shuddered, and the intensity of the throbbing light drive diminished. Pierce struggled to keep from flipping over the railing of his platform.
The red warning returned to the front screen and indicated there was an emergency. Reports and windows flooded Arlo's workstation in machine gun fashion.
The Atlas replaced the red emergency window with a video surveillance feed. A middle-aged, balding man, his shoulders and head drooping, stood in an airlock, nervously shuffling on his heels. He was speaking, though no one stood beside him. The feed did not have audio, so the officers on the bridge could not hear what was saying.
"Dad?" Arlo said.
"Arlo, report!" Pierce barked. Arlo gawked at the surveillance feed.
"Sir, there was an unauthorized airlock activation in cargo bay forty-nine," Evans said.
"Mr. Stone," Pierce said. "How's my ship?" An emergency deactivation of the light drive could cause massive damage to the Atlas. It was largely unpredictable and, therefore, unknown because
the variables were incalculable.
Pierce asked, not out of concern for the Atlas. As he had said, it was just a ship, and they clearly hadn't torn apart. He asked because he hoped to focus Arlo on his duties.
Arlo, clearly in shock, stood from his workstation to leave. Windows continued to accumulate on his terminal unabated. His slow, uncertain gait turned into a hurried walk. His mouth closed and his eyes narrowed. Pierce didn't like that look because he knew it came from an emotional response, which placed blinders over his eyes.
"Arlo," Pierce said. "Arlo!"
"No damage," he said. "We're coasting." Pierce grabbed Arlo's arm as he passed. Arlo tried to shake the Captain off, but his grip was too strong.
"We'll get him out of there," Pierce said, his gaze relentless. Arlo suddenly found that strength and determination sapped from him. Looking at Pierce was like looking into a mirror, and Arlo understood that the emotions he'd felt had been fake. He could look at his Captain no longer, feeling ashamed.
Just the apparent fortitude of Pierce's demeanor broke Arlo down, but like resetting his brain, he regained control and knew he'd been a slave to shock and fear. If he'd left the bridge as he'd intended, he would have broken down before he could reach his father. With his Captain, Arlo felt confident that everything would be all right.
"Evans," Pierce said, "can you override and shut it down?"
"N-no, sir. He must have done something on his end." Pierce released his grasp on Arlo, who couldn't yet move. He didn't have the strength.
"You have the conn, Cooper," Pierce said.
"Sir?"
"It's okay. We're just coasting." Pierce raised his hands to calm Evans. "Just keep an eye on things until we get back."
Pierce ushered Arlo toward the lift.
"Until you get back, sir?"
Pierce and Arlo walked determinedly past the department heads, who all stopped working even though requests for orders and confirmations flooded their workstations. They couldn't resist watching Pierce and Arlo's faces, one unwavering and one wrinkled with worry, both men shadowed by their intent, which would almost certainly put them in danger, as even without the light drive firing, if that airlock opened, they could be sucked into oblivion, and an ENV suit would only ensure a slower death by asphyxiation in the endless black.
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