5
Harris sat down at the desk in his office. It was only one mission, so he figured it was best to just throw them in the deep end and let them get on with it. Besides, the ship needed readying. He knew the Dock Officers would already have the ship’s power cells charged, and have all the required cargo loaded, but the team had to double-check that all items were accounted for and undertake mechanical and electrical checks to ensure everything was in order. Their departure time was looming, and until they were on their way, he couldn’t relax.
He began logging into the Command portal for his own last check with his superiors before departing. Within moments the screen beeped and revealed both Colonel Isaack and Professor Martin awaiting his transmission.
“Captain Harris, how did the introduction of the new recruits go?” Isaack launched into conversation.
“It went,” Harris said plainly. “They’re busy preparing the ship for departure now, sir.”
“Good,” Isaack said swishing his fingers about on an e-file pane that was lying on the table in front of him. “Your pilots are being sent the exact coordinates and docking codes as we speak. They’ve been given enough fuel for a hyperflight there and back, which means you should reach the station in approximately 53 hours from departure.” Isaack looked up at Harris to see if he understood.
“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.
“When you arrive at the station standard protocols apply, and I reiterate that the female recruits are not to board the Darwin without my authorization. We’re clear on that?” Isaack looked sternly down the screen at him.
“Yes, sir, I’m clear on the order,” Harris said, staring back at Isaack, “but I must say that I’m still quite unclear as to why they can’t board, sir. Their files looked decent.”
“As I mentioned earlier, Captain Harris—” Isaack began.
“Colonel Isaack, if I may answer this query for Captain Harris?” Professor Martin interjected, leaning forward across the table.
“Of course.” Isaack sat back in his seat.
“Captain, where possible we would like the female recruits to avoid any actual conflict. This improves our results for the test case, you understand?”
“So what exactly are you testing, then? That they can survive a flight out past Mars toward The Belt border?” Harris felt his tiredness starting to show through. “I’ve got news for you, Professor Martin, females can survive that, just as well as men can.”
Martin gave a humoring laugh. “Yes, we know that, Captain Harris, but we would like our records to be spotless nonetheless. If they avoid conflict, should there be any, then they are unharmed and our trial is successful. This makes the diversity people happy and is good for business, you understand. It’s what makes great PR.”
“Okay. Can I ask why you’ve given me three solid soldiers, on file at least, if all they’re going to do is just hang back? Why didn’t you send me three p-stars?”
“Well, captain,” Professor Martin pushed his glasses further up onto his nose, “Corporal Welles hasn’t been into space before, so technically she’s a, as you call it, a p-star, and Corporal Colt is still relatively inexperienced having only worked on cargo ships for four months.”
“That’s true,” Harris agreed, “but both have several years experience on Earth Duty. I would’ve thought that these women would be great examples to put through this test, particularly if there are unfriendlies awaiting us … should there be any conflict, of course,” he mimicked Martin.
Isaack sat forward again. “Captain Harris, the order is clear.”
“Colonel Isaack, I can’t speak for the other two women, but this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Corporal Welles has an ex-colonel for a father, would it? A father who was not only a UNF Space Duty colonel, but an ‘Original’ to boot. Is she just here for the glory of her old man? For the UNF to leverage off?”
“Colonel Welles has been retired for some years now,” Isaack responded. “He no longer has any pull here at Command whatsoever.”
Martin nodded in agreement. “I can assure you that it is sheer coincidence that Colonel Welles’s daughter is on your ship. She was placed there because she ticked all the boxes we needed. She was merely in the right place at the right time, captain.”
Harris stared at the screen for a while mulling it over, but he bought what they said, despite his tiredness and irritability.
Isaack, sensing Harris was done, continued on. “You’ve got your flight plans and your ETA. We’ll hook up again right before you dock. Do you have any more questions?”
Harris shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Then have a good journey, captain.” Isaack signed off.
“Yes, good luck, captain,” Professor Martin joined in.
Harris gave a simple nod, logged out of the portal, and the screen slid back down into his desk. He stretched out in his chair, lengthening his back, and couldn’t help but note that his stomach still had that strange feeling within it.
*
Carrie relented, staring at McKinley. “What would you like me to do, lieutenant?”
She’d followed him out of the mess hall and along the corridor to the weapons store. Not once had he looked around to see if she was following, whether she knew where she was going or whether she was lost. He didn’t look at her and he certainly didn’t speak to her. At first, she decided to play his game. She followed him, hanging back enough to be out of his sight, to check whether or not he was going to attempt to look around at her. He didn’t. When they arrived at the store, he tapped a code into the panel, swiped his pass and the door opened. He went in, still not glancing behind him.
She’d followed him inside and looked around. The store was rectangular in shape, about 50' x 65', and had metal cases lining one wall and smaller wooden crates the other, with racks in the middle to stack the weapons on once they were readied. Along the back wall were cabinets that looked to hold bullasers, top-line vests that offered protection against both bullet and laserfire, and she also saw oxygen backpacks. She watched as McKinley took a scanner gun from a hook on the wall and headed over to one of the metal cases. He flicked the metal catches open, examined the laser-fire rifle inside, then closed the lid again. He scanned the barcode on the case, checked the reading on the scanner, then hit a button on the scanner’s keypad, which made it beep, then he moved onto the next crate. This was when Carrie decided enough was enough and asked him what he wanted her to do.
He looked over at her as if she’d just walked in, and stared for a moment. His eyes were a piercing blue, and coupled with his messy longish, blond hair, it gave him quite a fierce look. Carrie stared firmly back, though. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.
He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I have to check that the weapons we have here are the ones Command told us they’ve packed,” he said, speaking to her like she was an annoying little sister and continuing on with his work.
“So, what would you like me to do?” she asked again in a firmer voice.
He looked at her, then walked over to the wall, picked up another scanner and tossed it at her. She caught it.
“Start with those crates over there,” he pointed to the wooden ones, “That’s the ammunition for the non-laser weapons, and battery packs for laser guns. You open the crate, check the type and the count, then scan the crate and see if the reading is the same, then you click ‘OK’. It feeds into a central computer that tallies it against what Command claim they’ve packed. I take it you know your ammo?” he asked condescendingly.
“I think I’ll be right,” she answered, then turned and walked over to one of the wooden crates. She noticed they were nailed shut, and looked around for something to open them with. Spying a crowbar lying on top of one of the boxes, she collected it and moved back to the crate, jimmying it between the lid and the base. She pushed down on the crowbar, and a small gap appeared. She pushed again with all her weight and bounced it, forcing it open wider, then moved the crowbar along a little to widen another spot. She could feel McKinley watching her, as her face flushed warm with the strain.
He overtly sighed and chuckled again, then dropped his scanner and walked over. “Move,” he said, grabbing the crowbar from her hands, and bumping her out of the way with his elbow, as he took over. He gave one hard nudge and it popped open. He walked to the next crate, jimmied it, and popped it open. He walked onto the third and fourth and did the same. “That ought to start you off,” he said, throwing the crowbar on the floor by her feet and returning to his side of the room.
“I had it covered, thank you!” she told him.
McKinley gave a short, sharp laugh. “We don’t have all day, corporal.”
Carrie swallowed what she wanted to say, turned to the crate and opened it. It was filled with boxes of clips for a standard UNF-issue handgun. She counted the boxes and scanned the crate, then checked the reading. It was correct. She hit the “OK” button, closed the lid, and went onto the next one.
She checked the next few boxes quickly, spurred on by the need to prove herself. As soon as she finished the fourth box, McKinley walked back over and opened another five. He did them in no time at all; a slight jimmy, a hard nudge and then a loud: pop … pop … pop … pop. She was sure he was doing it superfast just to prove he could. She let him, though. She wasn’t going to react. When he was done he threw the crowbar on the ground and continued with his boxes. This went on until all the boxes were done. Not a word was spoken.
When he finished his cases, he keyed some data into the scanner, which beeped, and a touch screen panel on the wall near the door lit up. He walked over to it, and ran his eyes over it for a moment, then he made his way over to the bullasers and oxy tanks to begin a count on them. When he was done, he sat on a pile of crates and watched her, looking bored, while she finished the last of her boxes.
When she was done, she closed the last crate and stood up. McKinley approached and took the scanner from her, following the same sequence he’d done for his earlier items to make the screen by the door light up again. He then moved back over to the screen and studied it carefully. She was sure he was checking to see if she’d made any mistakes. She hadn’t.
Giving nothing away, he raised his hand to the touch screen, ran his fingers over it for a moment, swirling and tapping here and there. The screen emitted a few more beeps, then seemed to shut itself down. As soon as the screen was off, he exited the store. Carrie shook her head and laughed to herself. She couldn’t believe he was going to continue on like this, but she wasn’t going to give up, so she followed him out the door.
They walked along the corridors and down into the bowel of the ship, which was crowded with cargo, a small escape pod emblazoned with the name Borealis, rows of electrical panels and the onboard weaponry. Eventually they came across the engine team. Carter was typing something into a wafer-thin screen panel, while Brown and Colt were standing by one of the electrical panels, checking things over. Carrie exchanged a look with Colt that indicated she was having an equally good time.
“Ah! Arizona!” Carter looked up from his screen.
McKinley walked up to him. “Weapons store checks are done. Results should be with you now.”
Carter tapped at his screen for a moment. “Affirmative. Results received. Sending off with the onboard weaponry now.”
“Have fun, ladies,” McKinley smiled sarcastically as he turned and walked off. Carrie followed him, and when they arrived back up at the main corridors, she decided to break the silence.
“So, where are we headed, lieutenant?”
He turned around and gave her a look as if to say, You still here?
“Weapons are checked. We’re done,” he said plainly.
“So, what about the induction?” Carrie asked.
He stopped, turned and looked at her again, his blue eyes reflecting some kind of amusement.
“Captain Harris instructed you to provide me with an induction to this ship?” she reminded him firmly.
He chuckled. “I know what the captain said, corporal.” He continued walking for a moment, then pointed off to the left at a set of double doors he was passing, “That’s the ship’s training facility. We’ve got a fully equipped gym and shooting range in there. You might want to check it out …” he glanced over his shoulder, “and practice,” he smirked.
Carrie’s eyes narrowed. Suck it up, she told herself. Suck it up.
The rest of her induction was much the same. He pointed her to the various doors of the places she needed to know, but never actually took her inside. When he was done, he swaggered back to the mess hall, walked up to the counter and started talking to Louis and Smith who had been checking the kitchen stocks. She couldn’t hear what McKinley was saying, but the three men started laughing and looking over in her direction. She stood at the door for a moment, undecided as to what to do, but suddenly noticed an observation window on the wall opposite. She gravitated toward it and peered out. She couldn’t see much other than the next ship to theirs, a little way off, but wondered just what kind of view it would provide when they were finally out in space.
She heard the soldiers laugh again, and turned back, just as Doc entered the mess hall. The medic glanced at the three men at the counter, saw them laughing in her direction, then he veered over toward her.
“Corporal Welles,” he greeted her. “How’d it go? Looks like you got through your checks pretty quickly.” He looked at his watch.
Carrie thought about her answer before she gave it, practicing some restraint, “Yeah, we did. We just got down to it and got straight through it, sir.”
Doc looked as though he suspected she wasn’t being completely honest. “And your induction? How did that go?”
She smiled sardonically, unable to hold back this time. “I saw a lot of doors that led into a lot of rooms that I didn’t actually get to see.”
“Oh …” Doc said, trailing off as he looked at the men then back at her. “Maybe he’ll give you a full induction after we take off.”
Carrie gave Doc a doubtful look. “Sure, sir.”
The medic scratched the back of his head in thought, “Listen, Lieutenant McKinley takes a while to warm to people, but he’s a good guy and a good soldier.”
Carrie scoffed. “He’s a prick!” she shot out, but immediately regretted it.
Doc let out a laugh and nodded. “He can be. But he’s also your senior officer, corporal. Hang in there, it’s only been a couple of hours!”
Just then Doc’s name was heard being spoken in the conversation between the three men at the counter, and more laughter ensued. Doc turned and saw they were looking over at the two of them.
“Excuse me,” he said, as he turned and walked toward them. They had a few brief words before Louis and Smith went back to checking their stocks, then Doc and McKinley seemed to have a private word for a moment.
Soon enough the engine room team entered the mess hall. A sense of relief settled over Carrie, and Colt must’ve felt the same way too, because she headed straight in her direction.
*
Harris made his way to the mess hall at 1840 where he knew the soldiers would be waiting after completing their final checks. When he entered he noticed the team sitting in two very distinct groups, with the women sitting on their own in the far corner of the second table. To be expected, he told himself.
He pulled his personal data port from his belt, and brought up the necessary screen to enter his authorization for takeoff.
“Engine room team,” he called loudly, his voice booming. “Have your checks been completed?”
Carter stood up. “Sir, yes sir! All engine room equipment and onboard aircraft weapons are A-OK, sir!” he boomed back, and then sat down.
Harris tapped the screen of his PDP, locking in the authorization, then looked up again. “Flight deck team! Have your checks been completed?”
Hunter stood this time, “Sir, yes sir! All equipment on the flight deck has been checked and is A-OK, sir!”
Harris tapped the screen again, as Hunter took his seat. “Weapon store team! Have your checks been completed?”
McKinley stood, “Sir, yes sir! All weapon stores have been checked and are A-OK, sir!” He sat back down.
Again Harris tapped his PDP. “Stores team! Have your checks been completed?”
This time Doc stood. “Sir, yes sir! All medical and general stores have been checked and are A-OK, sir!”
Harris prodded his PDP a few more times, before clicking it back on his belt holster. “Alright, soldiers!” he bellowed, glancing down at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes and counting! Assume your departure positions on the flight deck!”
*
Carrie watched as Harris left the mess hall. The remaining soldiers followed protocol, staying seated until the pilots, Hunter and Bolkov, along with Packham, had risen and left the room. Carrie and Colt exchanged a glance, then followed the rest of the men out, as they walked quickly and silently toward the flight deck.
As they reached the deck, Carrie stood at the door, not really knowing where to go. This was one of the doors that McKinley had shown her, but of course they had not gone inside. The flight deck was set out in a tiered format, with stairs down the left-hand side. On the lower tier she saw Hunter and Bolkov seated at the control panel positioned in front of the ship’s large observation window, hitting buttons and turning various dials. Packham sat off to the side, observing them. On the next tier, in a central seat at a long table, was Captain Harris. Seated to his left were his senior officers, Doc and McKinley, and to his right, Brown, the ship’s engineer. The last tier, the level on which Carrie was standing, was where the other soldiers, Smith, Louis and Carter were seated, to the left of the aisle. Following Colt, she sat on the right-hand side.
They strapped themselves into their seats tightly, and Colt gave her an encouraging smile. Carrie figured it was her way of saying, Good luck for your first flight. Carrie sat there watching intently, soaking it all in. Hunter was talking into his headpiece. Bolkov seemed to be responding. Their hands darted here and there over the various controls. Harris was watching closely from his tier above them.
At that moment, an unidentified male voice came over a loudspeaker. “UNF Aurora this is Ground Control. Do you receive? Over.”
Hunter responded. “Ground Control, this is UNF Aurora. We receive you. Over.”
“Aurora, your final checks have been received and confirmed. You have clearance for takeoff. Over.”
“Ground Control, roger that. We are ready for takeoff. You may start the countdown at your ready. Over.”
“Aurora, copy that,” the voice said.
The loudspeaker went quiet. Hunter slowly pushed a stick forward on the control panel, causing the ship’s low humming sound to increase dramatically. A loud beep sounded over the speaker and another male voice with a crisp English accent was heard.
“T minus 30 seconds to takeoff …” it said.
“We’re ready to rock ’n’ roll, captain,” Hunter called over his shoulder.
Harris pulled a small disc out of his pocket and tossed it to Bolkov, who caught it, then inserted it into a slot on the control panel.
“T minus 20 seconds to takeoff …” the voice called over the loudspeaker again.
Hunter looked at Bolkov and they nodded at each other. Bolkov adjusted his headpiece and Hunter grabbed hold of the large U-shaped control stick in front of him. He inhaled long and deep, then exhaled evenly.
“T minus 10 seconds to takeoff,” the voice called again, only this time it was followed by singular beeps, marking the final countdown.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
There was a loud thunderclap as the ship jolted forward violently, like a slingshot. Rushing through the air, the ship began to shake slightly, as though it were struggling and an intense pull was holding it back, but after another second or two it jerked again, and the soldiers were suddenly thrown back against their headrests as the Aurora surged in an arc, skyward. Through the window ahead, the sky swiftly turned from the orange-pink of the setting sun, to gray, and then to an inky black, as the Aurora hurtled for space. A fine white mist lingered over the window, rather eerily, as a thousand tiny white lights seemed to dazzle their way onto the flight deck, luring them onwards. Hunter was holding the stick tightly, his jaw clenched in concentration. Under his rolled-up sleeves she could see the muscles in his forearms straining, veins bulging. Bolkov looked a little easier, reading measurements on the control panel.
The pull of the force was quite strong now. Carrie felt as though she was being pinned to her chair by a ton of invisible weight. She tried to move her hands but couldn’t. This went on for about sixty seconds, until it seemed to even out a little and the pressure dropped slightly.
“Rock on, Bulk!” Hunter yelled.
Bolkov reached forward, hit a button, and suddenly the loud crunching sound of an electric guitar came over the loudspeaker. Carrie took a few seconds, but soon identified it as Jimi Hendrix’s version of Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower”, a song she remembered her grandmother playing to her. The volume was pumped loud, drowning out the noise coming from the ship. She saw a smile come over Hunter’s face, despite the concentration and strain it still held.
“There must be some kind of way out of here …” Jimi began to sing.
Brown looked over at Captain Harris and smiled, his head nodding to the music, and the rest of the soldiers were in various states of smiling or laughter. Carter, too, was nodding his head to the music. She wasn’t quite sure how they were doing it as the pull was still too strong for her. She glanced at Colt, who also had a big grin on her face, and despite herself Carrie was beginning to smile at the insanity. Here they were shooting through the Earth’s atmosphere at a ridiculous speed, being thrown against their seats, heading toward a distress signal they knew very little about, with a team of strangers, cranking Jimi Hendrix over the PA, and they were loving every second of it.
The song eventually hit its lull and Jimi’s guitar began to play a beautiful melody that seemed to slip and slide over the background beat. Carrie suddenly felt a bit emotional as she looked out at the starry space shooting through the window toward her. This was the first day of the rest of her life. She’d made it. She was on Space Duty. She was on her way to space …
“Outside in the cold distance … A wildcat did growl … Two riders were approachin’ … And the wind began to howl …”
When the song finished, the men were whooping, hollering and clapping, and then more Jimi ensued. After about twenty minutes, the ship seemed to even out a little more, and the force pushing Carrie against her seat suddenly eased off considerably. As it did, however, she felt her stomach turn … She held herself still and tried to swallow the large bubble of air gathering in her throat. No, no, no! she pleaded with herself, you CANNOT throw up! Not here, not now! Keep it down! Keep it down! Focus on something!
She looked over at Hunter. He was still holding the control stick but only in one hand now. He reached over with his free hand and flicked a switch.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called over the loudspeaker in a posh voice, “the seatbelt sign has been switched off. You may now leave your seats … and get the fuck off my flight deck!” he finished with a not-so-posh tone, smirking to himself.
Harris shot him a look, raising his eyebrows. “Whose flight deck?”
“Nice one, Hunter!” Carter called out as he stood.
“Yeah, fuck you very much!” Louis cascaded in his French accent. Hunter lifted his free hand and flipped him the bird. Bolkov laughed.
Colt turned to Carrie, “How cool was that?” Then she seemed to pause. “Y’alright?”
Carrie nodded, but dared not to open her mouth to speak. She pretended to busy herself with undoing her harness. The captain stood and headed for the exit, glancing at the women as he passed. First at Colt, then at Carrie, his eyes lingering a moment on her face, making her feel uncomfortable. The rest of the second tier then filed out: McKinley eyeing her and grinning to himself, Brown making eye contact but giving nothing away. Doc came next and he too looked at the women carefully, especially Carrie. She looked away, feeling as though she was sweating from every pore.
“You sure you’re okay, Welles?” Colt said quietly under her breath, looking ahead, not wanting to draw attention “You’re looking pale even for a white girl.”
“Fine,” she managed, looking down to see Packham staring up at her too.
Carrie waited for the rest to leave, hoping they would be long gone down the corridor by the time she made her exit. When she eventually emerged from the flight deck behind Colt, she felt a little shaky on her feet. The ship was still at a slight angle and occasionally gave a shudder and a shake. Just outside the door, a voice startled her.
“You okay, corporal?” It was Doc, studying her face carefully.
Colt glanced back, but kept on walking.
“I’m fine, sir,” Carrie gave a nod.
“You look a little ill. You’re not queasy?” he probed.
She shook her head.
“It’s a very normal reaction to get queasy during takeoff. It happens to a lot of people. When the ship evens out and the pull eases off, it’s like your stomach is doing a somersault or something. You get used to it after a while, but the first couple of times it can throw you … pardon the pun.”
Carrie really didn’t want to talk about her stomach right now. “I’m fine,” she assured him, turning around to follow the others.
Doc walked alongside her. “Well, if you decide that you are feeling queasy, just come and see me and I’ll give you a shot to take care of it. Alright?”
She could see out of the corner of her vision that his eyes were narrow, watching her closely. She nodded again, trying to walk normally, but desperately avoided stepping too hard on the ground. Her stomach needed a minimal amount of vibration right now.
“Where’re we headed?” she asked, changing the conversation and trying to distract him from his analysis of her.
“Mess hall. You hungry?” He gave her a little smile, like he was challenging her to admit she was sick.
Carrie tried to keep a plain face, as a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. The thought of food right now was not a good one.
“Sure,” she said, managing a weak smile.
When they reached the mess hall, everyone lined up at the counter. Louis and Smith took up their positions and began pulling dishes out of the ovens. She tried to let Doc go ahead of her, but he stood back.
“After you,” he said.
She reluctantly walked ahead of him, but avoided looking down the counter at the men scooping the food onto their plates. She saw Carter sniggering, just waiting for her to falter. Just hold it in … It’s nothing. You can take this. You can do it. You cannot look weak. Even Colt looks fine. You can’t be the only one!
When it came to her turn in the line, she held out her plate, but pretended to be looking around at where she was going to sit. Anything to avoid looking at the food.
“Tell me when?” Louis said to her, a big smile on his face as he mushed the spoon around in the dish, a little too long for what was necessary, she thought. He was enjoying this. Smith, also watching, was on the verge of laughter.
“When,” she said quickly after the one scoop, whisking her plate away.
She turned around and automatically locked eyes with Harris, as she overheard Carter saying, “Oh, she is so going to hurl, man!” It felt like the whole crew were watching her, even Colt. Carrie made her way over toward the other corporal, and as she walked, the smell of the food, which appeared to be some kind of creamy chicken stew, wafted into her face. The smell automatically triggered her saliva glands into over-production, but not in a good way. As she reached Colt, she placed her plate on the table and stood there. She couldn’t make herself sit down. She couldn’t bend her stomach right now. Colt eyed her nervously.
Doc came and stood beside her, placing his plate on the table, “Would you like to come and get that shot now, corporal?” he asked quietly to avoid drawing attention.
Carrie felt terrible. She was positive that any second her stomach was going to explode. She had to get away from that smell. She glanced quickly at Doc and nodded.
“Follow me,” he said, walking toward the door.
Carrie followed him and again felt all the eyes in the room upon her, particularly those of the captain. She tried to look as healthy as she could, but it was an extremely difficult task. As she exited, she heard the men burst out laughing and winced with embarrassment.
Doc turned around and looked at her. “You could’ve avoided that if you’d just come with me in the first place, you know.”
“I get the feeling that it still would’ve happened regardless …” she managed quietly.
The walk to Doc’s office seemed to take forever, although it was just down the corridor. As she entered the room, the clean antiseptic smell hit her and that air bubble appeared in her throat again. She felt the blood drain out of her face. Doc walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a ready-filled syringe and walked back over to her.
He gave her a funny look. “You want to throw up first?”
“Just do it,” she managed, as she put her hand over her mouth and turned her shoulder to Doc.
He grabbed a paper bag from the countertop and shook it open. “Here,” he said giving it to her, and within a spit second of handing her the bag, he’d pushed up her sleeve and jabbed her with the needle. The short sharp pain that shot through her arm as the needle pierced her skin, was all it took to trigger her stomach to heave.
“Whoa … just in time!” Doc said quietly. He quickly disbursed the fluid into her arm, removed the needle and tossed it in a waste receptacle.
Carrie heaved again. Doc swabbed her arm with something cold and wet, then let go of her sleeve and walked across the room. Carrie looked down into her bag of vomit for a moment, waiting to see if she was done. She felt a warm fuzzy sensation come over her and assumed it was whatever Doc had just injected her with. She immediately felt better, and decided it was safe to close the bag over.
“You done?’ Doc said holding out a white plastic cup filled with water.
She nodded. “Where do you want it?”
“I got it.” He took the bag off her and handed her the cup of water, “Sip it, don’t skoal it down.” He walked over to a window in the wall and pressed a few buttons on a keypad beside it. The window opened, he placed the bag inside, and after a whirring noise and a whoosh, the bag slid from sight.
Carrie sipped the water, it felt fantastic, and her stomach felt no desire to heave it back up. Doc washed his hands and headed back to her.
“How’re you feeling now, corporal?”
“Better. Thank you,” she shot him a quick, embarrassed, smile.
“Don’t be so stubborn next time,” he told her. “I’ve had to give some of the guys shots from time to time. It happens.”
He headed over to the door and motioned for her to follow. “C’mon, I’m starving.”
She took her cup and followed him back to the mess hall. As they approached the door she straightened up, wanting to look the picture of health. She finished off the last of the water and crushed the cup in her hand, stuffing it into her pocket. Doc walked through first. He looked over at the table of men, which now included Louis and Smith, but kept on walking. Captain Harris was at the counter getting seconds. She saw the men look at Doc, then at her, but kept their sniggering to a minimum. She wondered whether the lieutenant had given them a “look” to leave her alone. As she walked by the table, however, she saw Carter lean over to McKinley.
“I wonder what Doc gave her to cheer her up so much?”
The table broke out in laughter, and Doc looked around at them. Carrie made her way back to where she left her food, sitting down beside Colt, as Doc grabbed his plate and joined them.
“Now you look a normal white!” Colt said to her.
Carrie smiled and let out an embarrassed laugh. Just then Bolkov and Packham walked into the room. They headed over to the counter and started serving themselves food. Carrie figured that Hunter must be manning the flight deck. Harris finished serving up his seconds and looked over at her table. He headed in her direction and took the seat opposite. The men at the other table grew quiet and watched him.
“Got your appetite back, Corporal Welles?” he asked frankly.
Carrie swallowed her mouthful and nodded through a slight blush, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said taking a mouthful. “Be a shame for you to miss Louis’s food. Not all our meals come from the Command kitchens.”
Carrie was desperate to change the topic of conversation as she knew the other table was listening in. “Was that your song choice, captain? When we took off?” she asked.
He nodded, finishing his mouthful. Carrie smiled. She hadn’t picked him for a rocker.
“Do you always play a song on takeoff, sir?” Colt inquired of the captain, as Packham joined them, sitting down beside the captain.
“We do.”
“Is it always the same song or do you alternate? Does everyone pick a song?” Colt continued.
Harris shook his head. “Departure and arrival songs are always the captain’s choice. Occasionally I let the men choose songs during our training runs, but it all depends on how much they’ve pissed me off that day.” He shot the men at the other table a hard glance.
Doc chuckled, as he finished another mouthful on his plate.
“Speaking of training,” Harris continued, looking back at Carrie, “I’m looking forward to seeing you on the shooting range.”
Carrie swallowed her mouthful, noticing McKinley out of the corner of her eye as he looked over to their table.
“That Santos Siege was something special, corporal. You took out six men, that right?” Harris arched his eyebrow at her.
All eyes in the room were on her now.
“Wait,” Packham interrupted. “That was that hostage situation in Madrid a few months ago, right? I saw that on the news. That was you?”
Carrie shrugged humbly. “Well, there was a team of us. I didn’t get them all on my own.”
“But you got six men, including Jose Gardos the rebel leader?” Harris appeared intrigued by her modesty.
Carrie nodded. “Once I took out Gardos, the rest of them were pretty easy. They panicked and started running around. It was like moving target practice.” Carrie surprised even herself at the matter-of-fact way she’d said it, like she was talking about the stock market or something. She glanced around, noticing just how quiet the room was.
“You ever killed anyone before?” Harris asked, eyeing her carefully.
Carrie looked back at him for a moment. She tried not to think of her targets too often. She shook her head. “No. I’ve wounded plenty before, but my orders for the Santos mission were to shoot to kill. So, I did.”
“Six men is a good haul, Welles, especially for your first time,” Harris said. “Like I said, I’ll be interested to see you on the range tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Carrie nodded. It suddenly dawned upon her that Harris was trying to help her regain some “face” with the men. He’d been talking loudly enough for everyone to hear, asking the right questions. This was the first conversation he’d bothered to have with her since they met at 0700 that morning. It was short, it was sharp and his voice was completely devoid of any emotion, but she was grateful nonetheless.
*
Carrie yawned as she lay on her bed.
“So what were the guys like on the flight deck, anyway?” Colt asked Packham, as she stretched out in her own bed.
The sergeant gave a short laugh. “Typical flyboys. Hunter spoke to me as little as possible and I don’t think Bolkov can speak at all!”
“Hmph,” Colt agreed. “Sounds like the two I was with. The only things Carter said were something smart-ass, and Brown only spoke when he had to.”
Carrie scoffed at both of them. “At least they spoke to you at some point. You should’ve seen McKinley!”
“You know they’re just testing us out, right?” Packham said climbing into her bunk. “We’ve moved into their territory, and they’re letting us know that. I’ve seen it again and again.”
“Well, they better hurry up and accept my ass, ’cause I ain’t putting up with that shit for very long!” Colt said, jerking her neck to the side.
Carrie chuckled at her.
Packham rolled over in her bunk and looked down at the other two. “You’ve got to try, too, you know. Don’t go sitting off to the side in mess hall or on the flight deck. You’ve got to get in the thick of it. You put your face in their face, they’ve got no option but to acknowledge and recognize you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Colt said quietly, mulling it over.
Packham looked over the edge at Carrie. “How’s your gut?”
“Better now. Whatever Doc gave me did the trick.”
“Yeah. The first time I went up I vommed so much …” Packham said, a glazed expression taking over her face.
“But you’re a pilot!” Carrie laughed.
“I know,” she shrugged, “go figure. My gut was used to fighter jets in the Earth’s atmosphere, not spaceships floating around in space. I guess I just had to get used to it.”
“Well, hopefully I got it all out of my system. Literally!” Carrie said, then she looked over at Colt. “Did you throw up your first time?”
Colt shook her head, as she stretched out again. “Not me. I got an iron gut. I grew up on all kinds of spicy food, nothing upsets it. I do remember it felt weird, mind you, but I didn’t lose my lunch.” She glanced between the two of them. “It’s you skinny white girls who can’t hold your gut.” Her face broke into a cheeky grin.
Packham and Carrie smirked back at her, then one by one they touched their lamps, turning them off, and plunged the room into darkness. Carrie yawned again, as the long day weighed her body down with tiredness. To think this morning she’d merely been an Earth Duty soldier, and now hours later, here she was shooting through space. She smiled to herself, completely content, nestling the image she’d seen earlier into her mind.
At dinner, Packham had explained their flight process, telling her that as soon as the ship made it through the Earth’s atmosphere and gravitational field, the hyperflight would be engaged. Therefore there was only a small window to view the Earth before it disappeared for good. Trying to contain her eagerness, Carrie finished dinner, then calmly but curiously walked over to the mess hall’s observation window, peering through. She recalled how her breath had actually caught at the sight, it was so beautiful. There, in its full awesome glory, was Earth; a massive orb of blues, greens, golds and whites. She swore she could’ve reached out and touched it; such a sight to behold.
Her eyes had then drifted to explore the dark space surrounding it, and the silvery pinpricks of starry light that twinkled at her. And as enticing and intriguing and as breathtaking as the stars were, her eyes were drawn helplessly back to the beautiful marbled sphere she called home.