by Patty Jansen
Dressed in his Space Corps uniform, his father looked very sexy. His mother’s friends would have been jealous, but Jonathan recognised the stiff set of his father’s jaw. Underneath the glamour, he was the same man Jonathan knew today: bitter, angry, unhappy.
“What did you do that makes everyone hate you so?” he asked his father in the photo.
The frame answered his question by changing to the next picture, of himself as a young boy with his mother and aunt, taken on a trip to the beach. Also in the picture was Molly the beagle. Poor Molly. She’d been dead a number of years.
Jonathan took his pad, sat back on his bed, leaning against the wall. He turned it on, bringing up the search database on the screen. It brought up nothing under Paul Bartell other than very general, useless information. That he was a nuclear scientist with the Corps, a list of the ships that he had served on, and mention of his last service period at the Orbital Launch Station. When he’d retired, but not why. There wasn’t even more than some very general information about the type of projects he’d worked on.
Jonathan stared into nothingness. What if his father had seen something he shouldn’t have and had wanted to report it?
He turned on his computer. He had not used any of his off-station bandwidth allowance. He was going to send a message—
No. These channels were not private. He couldn’t ask his father any direct questions.
But he could make suggestions.
He typed, Requested contact: Paul Bartell. He entered the number.
The send icon came up on the screen. It was a depiction of a radio wave snaking over the screen. When it fell off one end, another came from the opposite side.
After a while, it said, Not available. Leave a message.
Damn. He hadn’t checked the time of day. His father might be asleep.
He started typing, I have arrived at the Orbital Launch Station. All is well with me. Do you have any contacts who can talk to me about your work here? Please message me back when—
The screen lit up. A message scrolled across it.
Don’t be stupid.
Ah, so his father had been watching.
I have to know. And he added. It’s safer for me to know what happened, in case I make the same mistakes.
After that, his father remained quiet for quite some time. Jonathan wondered if this meant that the connection had broken, but the icon still snaked over the screen.
Then the reply came, Report 8745-23. Use for access code: the name of a companion we both held dear who is not with us anymore.
Jonathan noted the number before it scrolled off the screen. Name of a companion?
What, grandma or other family? But his father had never liked his parents-in-law. Jonathan had never known his grandparents on his father’s side.
Then he knew: Molly.
He went to the station reporting area, typed in the report number, entered the code. After a few tense seconds, a document came on the screen that said,
Physical abuse among space crew: reports from eyewitnesses.
Chapter Ten
“ARE YOU KIDDING?” Gaby looked at Jonathan with wide eyes. “You want to do what?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to do it, only that I could do it, if the situation warranted, if you’re willing to back this up.” Jonathan was still panting from having run from his cabin to the hospital. He’d come here early so that he could talk to her before they both started work.
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m serious. That report said that in most cases of serious abuse, the abusers lost their sense of judgement because they’d been using Chrysalia. Your medical details should be able to confirm whether or not the victim used Chrysalia. If they used it, there have to be live cultures on board, because there is no other way to produce the gas and the bacteria are really short-lived. It’s a bacterium; it’s from Titan. If the crew of the Everbright have it, that will fail White’s quarantine test in half a second flat. I can flag it and order an investigation as Quarantine Officer.”
Gaby said nothing, but stared at some document she’d had on her screen when he came in.
“So the question is: did the victim use Chrysalia?”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you.”
“Gaby, please.”
“A doctor’s report is confidential.”
“I know that, but you also have a duty to report any criminal behaviour. I’m asking you to help me. Please. You saw what was done to that man. It’s too awful for words.”
No matter how it had happened, to have your leg broken as badly as that had to hurt an awful lot. He imagined the face and screams of the crewmember while his mates put his leg into a vice.
He could hear the bone snap and the victim scream, vomit and pass out.
God. He shuddered.
Gaby shook her head. “Do you have a death wish? In case you haven’t noticed it, people in the Force adore Captain Farrell. You would accuse her and her ship of smuggling drugs as well as abusing crew members?”
“No, of having live exobacteria on board, which the Quarantine law specifically prohibits. I’m not going to mention the abuse.”
“Small comfort.” She spread her hands. “Do you realise what you’re doing to yourself? How it’s going to wreck your career forever?”
Jonathan had to make an effort not to shout, And you think your career is more important than closing an eye to this behaviour?
The soft voices of some medical personnel drifted through the door from the emergency room. Jonathan remembered how sexy she had looked at the gym.
He said, “It’s your choice. If that man has been abused, I want to do something about it. I can keep the ship here.”
“No, Jonathan. It’s a stupid idea and you know it.”
“It would start an investigation and the truth will come out.”
“No, take it from me. You can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can. There might not be any records of Chrysalia having been harmful to humans, but there has been no research. I can make a case that in the light of what happened at Mars, we need to order an investigation. Since Mars, Earth has become nervous about these organisms. If we flag the ship as contaminated, that will send all kinds of experts up here and the Everbright is going to be stuck here for a long time, and the authorities will swarm all over the ship. The abuse is bound to come out. Because if this man is injured this badly, there will be others, right?”
Gaby didn’t reply. Jonathan couldn’t decide if her expression was one of horror or amazement.
He continued in a lower voice, “You know, last night I found out what happened to my father. He was a crewmember on the Everbright. He witnessed one of these shame parties, and one victim was a friend of his. This friend was too scared to report the incident, so my father reported it.” Damn it, he had never felt more proud of his father than he had since last night. All his life, his mother had told him how useless his father was, and that was a plain lie. “He was stubborn enough to carry it through and report it to Earth authorities. He lost his position because his colleagues were too afraid—they didn’t stand with him, even though they knew what happened. I don’t want to repeat that. Let’s make a stand. Let’s end this.”
“No, you can’t do it. Seriously. Please, don’t.” Her voice was anguished and trembled.
He met her eyes.
“What, Gaby?”
“What do you think has been going on in this hospital all the time? Didn’t you see Cresswell and his mates on the flight? They’re mates with all these bullies on the ships. I’m the doctor, right? I’m the one who gets to see all these injuries.”
Her expression said, And they will kill me if I report them. Her eyes glittered.
“I can’t help you, Jonathan, I really can’t. My sister is in the Space Corps as well. No matter how careful and confidential you are, people will know.”
Shit.
“What have they done to you, Gaby?”
She shook her hea
d. “I can’t tell you any more. I’ve already said too much. I should never have shown you that photo or told you about this. Never. Now get out.”
“Gaby—”
“Get out! Out!”
Jonathan scrambled from his chair, backed into the door and managed to open it behind his back.
In the emergency room, a nurse laughed at him.
“She has quite the temper, eh?”
Chapter Eleven
JONATHAN FELT NERVOUS all day. In the docking area, he had a constant feeling that someone was watching him. He approved a few ships for departure, but didn’t feel happy about approving any of them. The procedure was a farce, merely ticking boxes to keep people on Earth under the illusion that they controlled what came back from space. The monsters were not small bacteria. The threat came from within humanity.
At dinner, Kerry, Manuela and David were quiet. David hinted that they had copped some remarks and jokes in ill taste about the Quarantine Authority. He glanced at Jonathan from the corner of his eyes when he said this. Clearly, it was Jonathan’s fault.
He returned to the crew quarters after dinner. At the door to the rec room, he spotted Manuela, Kerry and David at their usual computer. Cresswell and the others watched the large screen close to the door.
Jonathan went inside, but Manuela, Kerry and David were too absorbed in their game to take any notice of him. Their opponents in the game, a couple of Space Corps troops, glared at him. And Cresswell was staring at him, too. Daring him to stay or sit anywhere he wasn’t allowed.
Jonathan left again. In his own room, he tried writing to his mother, but his mind kept churning.
Later, he tossed and turned in his bed.
After he had lain there for a long time, staring at the blinking light of the fire alarm on the ceiling, he decided sleep wasn’t going to happen.
He got up, checked the corridor—it was empty—and went to the rec room to make himself some hot chocolate.
Without anyone sitting on the couches and chairs, the room looked kind of dead, as well as twice its regular size.
He sat on the couch facing the biggest screen—the one normally reserved for Cresswell and his mates—and fiddled with the in-house entertainment while sipping his chocolate.
Wow, those soldier-boys watched a lot of violent vids. He flicked through the channels. The choice was pathetic. Wrestling, racing, sanitised Earth news, more sanitised Earth news, some medieval fight show, some sort of dance exercise program for women. Sheesh, that woman was skinny—
—a door hissed aside down the corridor, and there was the sound of footsteps. A moment later, a couple of men entered the rec room.
There were four of them, beefy guys in military overalls and they took up positions blocking the door, hands in pockets. Two of them had the shaven head so common with military in space. Jonathan had never seen them before.
They said nothing, just watched, a silent wall of muscle.
Jonathan didn’t know where to look. The vid still blared with the skinny woman twisting her body and wriggling her hips.
One of the men, with the nametag “Ormsby” spoke. “You’re the Bartell kid?”
“What if I am?” He didn’t like the man’s tone. He was not a kid. He rose, leaving the vid on the stupid show. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“ ‘Stan’ will do.” He eyed Jonathan up and down. “So it’s you making all this trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t give me any bullshit. He’s sent you and is still trying to get back at us.”
What the heck was he talking abou—ah. “If you’re talking about my father, you’re wrong. No one is trying to get back at anyone. My father has no interest in the ship anymore, and I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Jonathan did his best to keep his back straight and look the thug in the eye.
The man laughed. “Is that so? You done nothing wrong, huh?”
Jonathan didn’t reply.
“Well, I damn well hope so. One of the rules of this place is that you keep your nose out of other people’s business if you want to keep it in the middle of your face.”
“No need to threaten me.”
“You’re going to be cocky, huh? You know how much I like midgets who are cocky? I want you to back off, approve all ships for departure—” He came forward into the room.
Jonathan stepped back. “I’m doing my job. I am a Quarantine Officer. I have my job description and I will stick to that.”
“Do you know anything about the way this place is run?”
“I got my instructions.”
Jonathan had retreated so far that he could feel the warmth of the screen at his back. Colours from the stupid exercise vid flashed over Ormsby’s overalls.
“That right, huh? Instructions, huh?”
“Please let me through so I can go back to my cabin.”
The men laughed at this. One at the back said, “Did you hear that?” He put on a squeaky voice. “Please let me through so I can go back to my cabin.”
Ormsby waved his mates aside. “Move aside, so that the prince can leave.”
Jonathan detached himself from the vid, turned it off in all silence, and walked towards the door—
—until one of the men grabbed his jacket.
“Not so fast.”
The thug Stan drew Jonathan up. From close up, his lips were cracked from the dry air. He had a tattoo of a space ship on his neck. His eyes were grey and there was a brown spot in his left eye.
“Let me go.”
The men laughed.
Jonathan pulled harder. “Let me go. I’m not doing anything to you.”
Another man grabbed both his arms and held them behind his back. “Look at the little shrimp. I don’t think he got his lesson. Maybe we should teach him.”
Jonathan managed to get his left arm out of the sleeve of his jacket. They hadn’t expected that. Guess there were advantages to being skinny and used to having to escape bullies. He clamped his hand over Stan’s forearm and shoved his assailant back into the wall as hard as he could, which, admittedly, with Stan’s bulk being twice Jonathan’s, wasn’t very hard.
Stan stumbled. He yelled—
Something hard connected with the side of Jonathan’s head.
He saw black, went down on his knees, hard. A drop of blood fell onto the floor in front of him.
Damn. The sounds in the room came to him as if through a thick sheet of glass. Yelling and screaming. People running.
Jonathan wiped his face. The back of his hand came away covered in blood. He probed his face with his fingers. One of his teeth had cut through his lip.
Chapter Twelve
THROUGH THE PAIN and the pounding of his head, Jonathan registered that the yelling didn’t stop and to be honest, it didn’t sound like a victory yell. There was something chilling about it. Jonathan rose, despite the ringing in his ears and the fact that blood was dripping down his face.
Two of the men were holding Stan, who was rolling on the floor, his forearm with a sickening bend as if it had been caught in a door.
Jonathan muttered, “Oh, God.” He felt sick.
He found his voice. “Don’t touch him!”
Everyone looked at him. And because they were already touching him, he added, “Keep him still.” And then they gave him a what the fuck do you think we’re doing look.
“I’ll . . . I’ll call a doctor.” He was trembling, feeling sweaty. He couldn’t keep his eyes from that strangely bent arm.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the address book. His hands trembled. Blood trickled down his chin.
Gaby, Gaby, Gaby Larsen. Ah, there she was. He selected the number.
It rang a few times before she answered. “Whozzere?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”
Stan screamed.
“What’s going on?” Her voice sounded alarmed.
“Someone just . . . hurt
himself. In the rec room.” God, had he caused all this? He’d only shoved the thug into the wall. It wasn’t even a very hard shove. “I don’t understand. I barely touched him—”
Another scream. Some of Stan’s mates yelled at him to shut up.
“Hold on, I’m coming.”
She hung up. He wondered if she was still angry with him.
Jonathan went in search of a towel or something to wipe his face. The rec room had a little wet cupboard, but there was only a drying cubicle, and no towels. He couldn’t find the first aid kit or any sign pointing to it. The blood was starting to run into the neck of his shirt, so he wiped it with the back of his hand. He made a mess of his sleeves. Where was the damn first aid kit?
A few people whose rooms were close to the rec room came to see what the racket was about. Everyone was trying to help Stan. Everyone was yelling and this caused more people to come out of their cabins.
“What’s going on?” a woman asked.
Someone else said, “Some ship crew got into a fight.”
“Hey, he’s wearing Ormsby’s overalls.”
Someone gave Jonathan a towel.
Gaby came running into the rec room not much later. With her was a nurse pushing a wheelchair.
She sank onto her knees next to Stan, whipped an injector gun out of her bag, clicked in an ampoule, then another one and gave him two shots, one in each arm. The screaming stopped soon after.
A couple of the men lifted Stan into the wheelchair, his head lolling to the side, and the nurse wheeled him off.
Gaby gathered her things and while she rose, met Jonathan’s eyes. Her hair was messy from sleep.
“Was that you calling me?”
He nodded, wiping his chin. The towel was white and had acquired an impressive red stain.
