15
Carrie and Colt were busy heating up the food for lunch. Colt appeared to have enjoyed the time away and seemed more relaxed now.
“So what was Smith doing on the flight deck?” Carrie inquired.
“Downloading some files from the Darwin onto our systems here.”
“Yeah, what files?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look.”
“There has to be something going on. How do people just disappear?” she thought aloud.
“Well, the station’s ship is missing. I say they just left and didn’t tell anybody. Went AWOL,” Colt said, placing a stack of plates on the counter.
“Yeah, but what’s with the whole blackout story? Something weird’s going on with those survivors.”
“Yeah, definitely something not right about those dudes.”
Carrie grabbed a heap of knives and forks and put them out near the plates. “Hey, I’m sorry for getting you in trouble earlier,” she said softly to Colt.
Colt looked at her and nodded. “I guess I got myself into trouble for speaking up. Like you, I gotta learn when to keep my mouth shut too.”
“Well, I promise I’m going to keep my mouth shut from here on in.” Carrie picked up a white napkin, unfolded it and waved it about in the air at Colt in surrender.
Colt smiled, flashing a mouthful of white teeth, and grabbed it off her. “Stop wasting the napkins, Corporal Welles!” she said in her best Harris voice.
Carrie laughed, but they both stopped abruptly when Brown, Hunter, Carter and Louis entered the mess hall.
“Where the hell’s my food, woman?” Brown asked Colt with a straight face.
She gave a sassy look back. “Sit the hell down before I open up a can of grievous bodily harm on yo’ ass!”
Brown gave a short sharp laugh, and Hunter smirked.
Louis turned to Carter. “If I was behind there, the food would be ready by now.”
“Feel free to take over any time,” Carrie smiled sarcastically at him.
“Sorry, ladies, we’ve been busy working on the Darwin,” Carter said, folding his arms. “You should’ve been there for the boarding, it was great. Oh, that’s right, you didn’t quite make the cut, did you?”
Carrie narrowed her eyes slightly and gave him a big smile. “I’m sure they’ll call me in when there’s some real work to be done!”
“Ouch!” Hunter said quietly.
“Jesus, it’s too hot in the kitchen today. I’m going to sit back over here,” Brown said moving toward the tables.
“Keep your pants on, it’s here,” Colt said carrying a tray of food over to the warmers. “Start on that.”
The men began grabbing plates and lining up, as Harris, Smith and Packham entered.
Carrie brought out a second tray of food and placed it in the warmer beside the other dish. She made eye contact with Harris as he took a place in the queue, but she quickly looked away, as he seemed to look straight through her.
When everyone was served, they sat down and started eating.
“How’s things on the Darwin, captain?” Colt got the conversation started. “Are we any closer to locating the missing crew?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said simply, scooping food onto his fork.
“Oh,” Colt said, a little disappointed with his sharp reply.
Harris appeared to feel a little bad and offered something more. “We’re working on a few things. As soon as we have something concrete you’ll be briefed.”
“Pass me the salt,” Brown said, leaning across Carrie toward Hunter, who passed it over. As he did, Carrie got a close look at the tattoo along Brown’s right forearm. It was a pattern in black ink, the core of which sat on the inside of his forearm, and long tentacle-like stands wrapped around to the front.
“Brown, what is that?” she asked.
He saw she was looking at his tattoo and glanced down at it. He turned his arm over and held it out to show her. “That there’s the sun,” he said pointing to the swirling core on the inside, “and these are solar flares.” He pointed to the tentacles curling around to the front.
Carrie took a good look. “So does it have some significance? What does it mean?”
Brown looked from his arm to Carrie. “It means … you see these solar flares coming your way? You better get the hell out of there!”
The table broke into laughter, just as Doc entered the mess hall. He walked over to the counter, grabbed a plate of food then walked back out, without so much as a glance at any of them. It was a bit strange, Carrie thought. She glanced over at Harris, whose eyes were on the door as Doc exited. He looked back down at his plate and continued eating, not skipping a beat.
They continued to eat in silence for a time. Carrie furtively glancing at Harris, trying to gauge his mood. She thought she’d try to have that “word” with him after lunch, but wanted to check it was safe to do so. He didn’t look too bad. It might be worth a try. They continued to eat in silence, the only sounds their knives and forks hitting their plates.
Carter, however, now seemingly more awake with a bellyful of food, piped up. “So captain, did I miss anything while I was sleeping?”
Harris shook his head and placed his cutlery together across his plate. “No. We’ve just got bits and pieces that don’t add up yet.”
“And we’re waiting until 1800 before we let those guys out?” Carter continued.
“If they pass their blood tests,” Harris confirmed.
Louis piped up. “There’s got to be something wrong with them. They were definitely acting strange.”
“What do you mean?” Harris looked over at him.
“They did not speak a word to each other, the whole time. Dead silence. And they didn’t sleep much on our watch, did they?” Louis turned to Carter.
“No,” Carter confirmed. “Just for short amounts of time and one of them was always awake, looking at us.”
“They were sweating a lot too, despite the controlled temperatures of the station. And they seemed … agitated,” Louis continued.
“And the slightest noise, they would sit upright and look off in the direction it came from,” Carter said.
“Sometimes they did that when there was no noise,” Louis added, “and I swear Logan and Chet were watching us in the dark. But whenever I turned to look at them, their eyes were closed. It was weird.”
“Maybe they fancied you, Louis!” Carter said, and most of the table laughed.
“Well, with you as my only competition, can you blame them?” Louis retorted, holding his arms out in demonstration.
Harris smiled, and then looked over at Brown. “Brown, you and Hunter take the afternoon shift on the cell, and relieve McKinley and Bolkov. I’ll get those guys to work with Smith in the control room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And pay close attention to them,” Harris said firmly, looking between Hunter and Brown. “I want you to tell me if any of their behavior is out of the ordinary.”
“Yes, sir,” they said, as they got up from the table and left.
“Do you need us to do anything, captain?” Carter asked, “Or can we get a couple more hours of shut-eye?”
“Nothing right now, but I want you back on deck by 1430.”
“Yes, sir,” Carter said, as both he and Louis got up from the table and left.
Harris turned to Packham. “I want you on the flight deck, in case we need anything. Smith will give you a quick rundown of our data systems.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave a nod, then turned to Smith, who stood and motioned for her to follow.
Carrie picked up her plate and started to head over to the counter. She wanted to show Harris that she was going to do her duty and not complain.
“Corporal Welles?” Harris called after her.
She turned around.
“When you and Colt are done here, head up to the flight deck too and see what you can learn about our data systems.”
She nodded, “Yes, sir,” content that he was giving her something other than mess duty. Had she gotten her point across, after all?
Harris stood from the table, walked over to her and handed her his plate.
Perhaps now is the time? she thought.
“Captain, do you have a moment to speak with me?” she asked.
“Not now, corporal,” he said in a flat voice, then walked away.
*
Harris sat in Darwin’s control room, looking over the items that Hunter had pointed out to him earlier. The Darwin had had regular shipments for the past 12 months. Approximately four ships serviced the station in rotation. Every six weeks one arrived to deliver supplies and take waste away. Smith, from the flight deck, had accessed the crew files for two of the ships, but the other two, the final two to service the station before the loss of comms—the Stella Maris and the Belgo—were classified. They had, however, managed to dig up some general information on the two ships.
The Stella Maris was a stock standard private enterprise cargo ship that ran general supplies between Earth and the outstations. The Belgo was a little more interesting in that it was a cargo ship that ran mainly chemicals and medical supplies, and was owned by an ex-convict named Gray Quint, who it turned out had done time in Hell Town. Whether he was on the ship at the time of docking was unknown as the files were classified, but it certainly sparked Harris’s interest. He’d asked Smith to try and dig up some more information about him, but all they could find was his prison record. Quint was an ex-soldier, who’d done time for his part in a crime ring as the muscle who “cleaned up problems”. He had several counts of murder against him and had been sentenced to 77 years in Hell Town. For some reason, however, he was released for good behavior after six. That seemed to send a red flag rather swiftly to the top of Harris’s warning pole.
Brown had confirmed to Harris that any comms issue had to be something on the internal network system. He could find no wiring or hardware fault that could explain the lost connection. This was something the captain hoped to get Bolkov working on as soon as he’d had a bite to eat.
Just then Smith entered the room.
“Smith,” Harris greeted him. “Get me those transmission logs!”
“I’m on it, captain. They’re not far away,” he said, taking the seat next to Harris at the console.
Smith starting working the system, while Harris continued to read through the information they did have. He reread the manifests, looking carefully at the items they had delivered. He turned to the console in front of him and started researching the steroids and growth hormones they’d had delivered. He then began researching the animals they’d had delivered. Nothing made any particular sense and the frustration continued to rise within him. Not knowing what programs they’d been running on the station meant he couldn’t determine whether they could have somehow been implicated in the lost connection with Command or the disappearance of the crew. More to the point, so far he couldn’t find evidence of any technical programs, only biological ones.
“Captain, we’re in!” Smith said excitedly.
“Talk to me, private,” he said, leaning over to his console, hopeful.
“Last transmission out was on September 16th.”
“What was it?” Harris asked impatiently.
“It was a transmission to Command. It was brief, barely five minutes. It looks like it was under Sharley’s log-in and it was made to a Professor Martin.”
“Can you tell me what was said?”
Smith tapped the screen, but it beeped in a way that Harris knew was not good. His private shook his head. “It’s classified.”
“Fuck!” Harris hissed. “Was that the very last transmission?”
Smith hit a few more buttons. “Just the last one from the Darwin. There was an incoming transmission from Command on September 19th.”
“That was the day they lost comms. Who was it from?”
“Professor Martin.”
“Let me guess. It’s classified.” Harris asked flatly.
Smith tried to open the file but the screen beeped again. “Yes, sir. Although … it looks as though they lost comms during that transmission. There’s an error code.”
Harris rubbed his hand along his jaw, staring at the screen, deep in thought. “Pull up a list of the transmissions from, let’s say, a couple of days before the Belgo docked, to the day it left.”
“Yes, sir,” Smith said, already on it.
McKinley and Bolkov entered the room.
“Captain,” McKinley greeted them.
Harris looked up. “You eaten?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Harris said, standing up. “Bolkov, I want you to get on here and figure out what the hell is wrong with the comms. Brown assures me it’s not a hardware or wiring issue. It’s got to be something in the software.”
“Yes, sir,” Bolkov made his way over to the chair Harris vacated, and sat himself down.
Harris moved to stand behind Smith’s chair. McKinley flanked him, curious as to what they were looking at.
“We’re into the transmission logs,” Harris informed him.
Smith tapped away for a moment. “Okay,” he said, pointing to the screen as he read. “It looks like there were a few around the time of the Belgo’s docking … one the day before, one the day of docking, and one the day after. The first two were made from Command to the station … and the third was from the station to Command. There was another one five days later, from the station to Command … then there’s nothing until a day before the ship left.”
“Let me guess. Classified?” Harris asked.
Smith swirled his fingers around the screen. “No! Not all of them.”
Harris leaned in closer, as Smith accessed the files.
“The first two we can access,” he said, tapping away. “So, that’s the day before docking, and the day of docking. The others have been classified, though.”
“Tell me what they say.”
“Okay. The first one, which is the day before docking, was made from Professor Martin to Sharley,” Smith said, scanning the transcript that was scrolling up his screen “Professor Martin is talking about a special shipment that is coming into the station … blah, blah, blah … it’s apparently the most important shipment to date … He’s asking whether Sharley is sure he’s ready for this shipment … Sharley’s saying he’s confident they can handle the shipment … Professor Martin is saying okay, they’ll go ahead with sending it in … that’s about it.”
“What about the other one?” Harris asked.
“The other one was made the day of the docking. Again, from Professor Martin to Sharley … he’s confirming the ETA of the Belgo … he’s asked that they receive the goods as per normal … then once the general cargo has been received in, they perhaps invite the crew to stay for dinner … Sharley confirms they will proceed with docking the Belgo as suggested … he says he’ll be in touch when all the cargo has been attended to. That’s it.”
“That make sense to anyone?” McKinley asked. “It sounds aboveboard, but—”
“That’s a hell of lot of transmission time to talk about a standard cargo delivery they’ve had for the past twelve months or so,” Harris agreed. He straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. He glanced over at McKinley, then back down at Smith. “Find me the transmissions around the time of the Stella Maris’s docking.”
*
Carrie and Colt sat at the flight deck console with Packham, who was going over the data systems that Smith had shown her. As they spoke, information seemed to be scrolling up the screen.
“What’s that?” Carrie asked.
“Whatever they’re looking at on the station. It uploads onto our systems here,” Packham said, leaning forward to take a careful look at the screen. “It looks as though they’re transmission logs. Something about a cargo delivery on a ship called the Stella Maris.”
Carrie leaned in, eyeing the screen carefully, “June,” she read aloud. “I wonder what that’s about? Can we take a look at what they’ve downloaded already?”
“If there’s something important in there, the captain will brief us soon enough,” Packham said.
Carrie nodded and sat back in her chair, but kept her eyes on the screen, scanning the transcripts. It was a conversation between a Professor Martin and Professor Sharley, the man in charge of the Darwin. They were discussing a shipment of cargo coming into the station. Professor Martin was requesting Professor Sharley let Command know how much waste the ship would be taking away.
“Cargo and waste,” Colt had been reading the screen too. “What’s so important about that?”
Carrie shrugged.
“We’re supposed to organize a data dump to an e-file every five minutes,” Packham continued with her tutorial. “In case of any power failures, they’ll still be able to access information, if need be. The system does an autosave every 60 seconds.”
“Where are the panes you’ve loaded so far?” Carrie asked.
Packham motioned to a drawer beside her. “Some of it’s in there, but Smith said the captain has the rest.”
Carrie moved over to the cabinet and opened it. There was a stack of blank files and two or three that were glowing, which indicated they contained data. She picked one up and started scrolling through it.
“You sure you oughta be nosing in that?” Colt’s voice had a motherly tone to it.
Carrie shrugged and glanced over at the other two. “An extra set of eyes can’t hurt, can it?”
Colt and Packham exchanged a wary look.
“It’s just more stuff about another cargo ship called the Belgo,” Packham told her.
Carrie looked up at the sergeant.
“Who do you think did the data dump?” Packham said.
Carrie flicked through it quickly, scanning the transcripts. It was much the same as those of the Stella Maris; conversations about cargo deliveries. She shut down the file and placed it back in the drawer.
“Did you see the other stuff? The stuff that the captain’s already got?” Carrie asked Packham.
She shook her head. “Smith was on duty, then.”
Carrie sat back in her chair and stared at the monitor. What’s the captain trying to find? Why is he so interested in these cargo deliveries? Her mind suddenly went back to the mess hall at lunch. She remembered that Doc came in late and didn’t stay. She remembered Harris watching after him as he’d left. He must’ve been busy working on something for the captain.
She stood up. “I’m going to see if Doc needs a hand with anything.”
The other two exchanged another glance.
“I thought Harris said for you to stay here,” Colt reminded her.
“He said to learn the data systems and I have.” She looked at her watch. “Doc might need a hand getting ready for the next lot of physicals on the survivors.” Of course, she was lying as she’d already gathered the stuff together for him, but she was curious to find out more about what was going on with the Darwin.
“Corporal, you should stay here,” Packham said somewhat firmly, as though pulling rank.
“I’ll be back in a minute, sergeant,” Carrie assured her.
Packham shot her a warning look as she turned and left the flight deck. Carrie wasn’t sure what it was about, but it stayed in her mind for the entire journey to Doc’s office.
*
“Hey, Doc,” she said, knocking and entering his office. He was at his desk, head in hand, looking intently at some files he had in front of him. He glanced up at her and an uncomfortable look shot across his face. He looked down at his files.
“What is it, corporal?”
“I just thought I’d see whether you needed a hand with anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” He looked up at her then back down at his files.
“You seem to be up to your ears in something there?” Carrie approached and came to a stop on the opposite side of his desk. “You sure I can’t help you with any research or anything? I know my way around search engines, sir!” she smiled, “Used them a bit in my previous life.”
Doc let out a quiet sigh, but continued looking at the files in front of him. “What orders did the captain give you?”
“He said to learn the data systems on the flight deck and I’ve done that. I just thought maybe you could use my help. They seem to be downloading a lot of information from the Darwin.”
“Well, like I said, I’m fine. You should go back to the flight deck until Captain Harris orders you otherwise.” He looked up at her briefly and then returned to his work.
Carrie eyed him. Something wasn’t right. What was that uncomfortable look for, earlier?
“Is everything okay, Doc?” she asked. “You look a little on edge.”
“I’m fine, Welles. I’m just busy,” he said, not looking up from the files.
He was avoiding eye contact with her now.
“I’m sorry, have I … done something wrong, Doc?” she asked slowly, scrutinizing him.
He glanced up at her, shook his head. “No,” he said, then looked at his monitor and started typing something.
“I tried to have a word with the captain, but he’s avoiding me,” she said, wondering whether it had anything to do that.
Doc didn’t answer and kept looking at the screen.
“I’ve tried a few times now, but he won’t talk to me. He’s not exactly open to people, is he?” Carrie added.
Doc looked at her. “Corporal, don’t mistake the captain being good at his job for him being an asshole,” he said tersely.
She looked at him, a little surprised. “I don’t … I just mean he’s a little hard to speak to. He’s not exactly approachable, like you are.”
“Well, you shouldn’t mistake me being good at my job for anything else either!”
Carrie was taken aback by the cutting way Doc spoke. She stared at him, a little stunned, as he quickly turned back to the screen in front of him, clenching his jaw as he did so.
“Er, I … don’t,” she said quietly. She felt a strange sensation in her chest, as though his words had somehow winded her. “I’m sorry, Doc, you said I haven’t done anything wrong?”
He sighed again, frustrated. “Welles, I’m busy and you should be on the flight deck where Captain Harris ordered you to be.” He didn’t look up from the screen.
She stood there quietly for a moment, then nodded. Clearly, he was angry at her for something, she just didn’t know what it was. All she knew was that she had to leave him alone, and fast, making her exit as formal as she could.
She straightened her posture and spoke in her best soldier’s voice, albeit still somewhat taken aback. “I apologize, Lieutenant Walker. I won’t disturb you again.” She saw Doc’s face soften and his body slump slightly as she turned and headed for the door.
“Welles,” he called.
She didn’t look back, but kept walking toward the door, wanting to leave immediately.
“Welles!” He scooted around her and placed his arm between her and the door, hitting the lever to close it.
She eyed him and saw he was staring at the floor, rubbing his hand over his forehead, mind ticking over.
“It’s okay, Lieutenant Walker, I understand. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” She kept her formal manner.
“Welles,” he began, his eyes a little defeated, “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean for what I said to come out like it did. I just mean … you can’t just keep dropping by here like this.”
She gave him a confused look.
He looked down at the floor again for a moment, then took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “I can’t be seen to be spending too much time with you,” he said slowly and carefully. “At least, not more than the others. It doesn’t look good.”
Carrie felt her brow furrow. “Why?”
Doc gave her a look as if to say “you know what I mean.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding. She gave a slight nod. “And if I was a male soldier? Would it be a problem, then?”
He looked at her and gave a slight shake of his head. She nodded again, staring at the door in front of her, suddenly feeling utterly stupid. She took a deep breath and turned to him. “Well, I apologize if I got you into trouble or caused you any embarrassment, Lieutenant Walker. It won’t happen again.”
Doc’s face looked even more defeated. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Welles. We just need to … watch the time spent alone.”
Carrie looked him in the eyes for a moment, but felt uncomfortable and turned back to the door. For some reason his words made her nervous. She suddenly became aware of how close he was standing to her, his arm still outstretched to the lever, blocking her pathway to the door.
“Can I go now, lieutenant?” she asked, staring at the arm that blocked her path.
Doc let out another sigh and slowly removed his arm. Carrie immediately hit the lever, and as soon as she could, vanished.
*
Harris stood in the control room, thinking. McKinley was watching him, trying to read his thoughts. Smith had moved his chair closer to Bolkov’s as they tried to determine the reason for the comms issue.
“So, the last two cargo ships’ crew files are classified. As are most of the transmissions once the ships have docked. We can access their incoming manifests, however. So, there’s something that’s happened once they’ve docked that’s made their voyages all of a sudden classified. It’s not what they’ve brought to the station. It must be something they’ve taken away,” Harris said, thinking aloud.
McKinley nodded. “Let’s see if we can bring up the manifests of what the ships have taken with them,” he suggested.
Harris nodded back at him. “Smith?”
Smith moved his chair back to the other console. “On it!” He started tapping and swirling about on the screen. “Alright,” he said scanning the data. “On the Stella Maris … it looks just to be waste … and some data files. On the Belgo … it’s the same. Waste and data files.”
“And I suppose there’s no information on those data files?” Harris asked unenthusiastically. He already knew the answer.
“No, sir,” Smith confirmed.
“Alright. Well, how does the outgoing manifest of these ships compare with the outgoing manifests of the other ships over the past twelve months?” Harris asked.
“Just give me a second,” Smith said, as he once more turned to his screen.
Harris and McKinley stared at each other while they waited, as though trying to find the answer on the other one’s face.
“It would appear … anywhere between 80 and 100 containers of waste are collected every six weeks,” Smith said.
“And on the Stella Maris and the Belgo?” Harris asked.
“The Stella Maris had … 115 drums of waste. Oh, wait … it says here 95 are general waste and 20 are labeled as classified waste.”
“Classified waste?” Harris felt his brow furrow. “And the Belgo?”
“The Belgo had 118 drums of waste … 99 general and 19 classified.”
“Were there data files on the other manifests?” McKinley asked.
“Just a second,” Smith said scanning the monitor as he flicked between screens. “Yes, there was. Not quite as much data as what the Stella Maris and Belgo took away, though.”
Harris rubbed his jaw again, deep in thought. “So these two ships have become classified, and they’ve taken extra waste and extra data files away. Something has happened on the Darwin while they were here. Something classified, that has therefore made these ships and their crews now classified. Smith? Can you find out where these ships docked after they left here?”
“Yes, sir. It might take a few minutes.”
Bolkov looked over at Harris and McKinley. “Maybe the crew were smuggling something? Or perhaps they were jumping ship? Stowing away in drums as classified waste?” he offered.
Harris cast an implausible look in Bolkov’s direction, but Bulk stared back in all seriousness.
“Some people do some crazy things to get out of some places,” the Russian offered in his slow deep voice.
“Some people just put in for transfers, too, Bulk,” Harris replied, flatly.
“Alright!” Smith piped up. “The Stella Maris went straight back to Earth and docked at … Command! So did the Belgo.”
Harris paused, staring at the screen, his mind ticking over at a fast pace.
“Why are standard cargo ships docking at Command?” McKinley asked, “Don’t they just pick up the UNF supplies from the commercial docks?”
Smith shrugged. “Classified waste from a classified station?”
“Where are they now?” Harris asked Smith.
“They’re both still at Command. Looks like they’ve been listed for decommissioning and sale.”
“They’re both still at Command,” Harris repeated, rubbing his jaw more animatedly now. “So, the Belgo departs the station with its classified waste and docks at Command. Two weeks later they lose comms with the station, and then we’re sent here to find out why.”
Harris and McKinley looked at each other again.
“I think I need to have another discussion with Command,” Harris said flatly.