by Robin Triggs
I imagined a future group of explorers coming across the ruins of the base, wondering at the perfectly preserved buildings, our corpses frozen as a bitter wind howled through the site.
I’d reached a dead end. I could see no new lines of inquiry to pursue. Damn de Villiers. Damn the hacker, whose message I was still staring through. If only the commander hadn’t blocked my access to personal files. There was no way, no other way I could see to move forward.
I should really now have recorded my thoughts to my log and thus to the black box. That way, my successors might know what had happened in case of my death. But I really couldn’t bring myself to care about proper procedure, not then.
I felt my scar stiff on my forehead and did my best to relax my frown. I could only hope that Fischer was getting on well with her preparations; a fresh Psych test, in front of witnesses, was the only way I could see to demonstrate that I, at least, was innocent.
* * *
There were too many empty seats at the meal that night. No one wanted to move from their normal places so there were odd gaps. Silence hung over us as we ate. No one had even made eye contact as we’d gathered in the canteen. Fischer was blatantly stoned, gazing around blankly with a thousand-yard stare. Her mouth kept twitching, her face running through a gamut of expressions. She’d look around as if surprised by her surroundings, then smile as if some far-off memory had just surfaced, and then sink her head as if in despair. I was alarmed – we needed our doctor fully alert and aware. I needed to talk to her.
Keegan was stoned too, but not as badly as Fischer. He just slumped in his seat, looking down at the table. He drank glass after glass of water, and when he did talk, he mumbled and was almost impossible to understand.
Everyone in the room had dark shadows under their eyes, and we were all prone to jumping at shadows. When Fischer clumsily knocked over Weng’s glass, the geologist stood and glared at the doctor with such rage in her eyes, I thought for a second that they were going to come to blows.
There was no wine served with the food.
When Abidene had cleared up the last of the dishes, there was a move by Keegan and Greigor to rise. Fergie, however, called them back.
“Okay,” he said, his voice sounding uncomfortably loud after the quiet of the meal. “Whilst we’re all here, we should discuss what we’re going to do now.”
No one spoke.
“We all know the situation. We’re crippled here, and we need to make changes if we’re gonna survive. No one is to leave the barracks till we’ve carried out new Psych tests on every member o’ this crew.”
A general shifting of seats took place around the table. Surprise crossed many faces, and I grimaced. I hadn’t wanted the Psych tests to be announced. Anger swelled through me. I gritted my teeth and watched the faces around me, saw the heavy eyes and drawn lips, saw my own tiredness reflected back at me. Say nothing. Mustn’t say anything. Mustn’t inflame emotions.
“To preserve as much power as possible, we’re cutting off all power to auxiliary buildings—”
“What about my plants?” Maggie cried in alarm.
“If you’ll let me finish, Professor,” Fergie growled. “We’re cutting power to all buildings except for the greenhouse and here in the barracks. We are also goin’ to look to moving all crew to the lowest level of the building—”
This time everyone spoke up, all the crew at once crying protests and objections. All except for Max, Fischer and myself.
“Hey, this ain’t my fault,” Fergie snapped back, thumping the table. “I didn’t get us into this mess! You all know it – all know the facts. Either we consolidate or we freeze.”
The murmurs subsided. The crew confined themselves to unhappy glances and frowns.
“Who’s responsible for this?” It was Abidene, his quiet voice carrying clear across the table. It seemed as if he was speaking to himself as much as anyone else. “Who brought us to this in the first place?”
No one spoke, but several faces turned to shoot me looks. I was not sure if they were silently accusing me or if they wanted me to have found out for them. I had to disappoint them all. “I’m still investigating,” I said, as quiet as Abidene.
Keegan cleared his throat loudly. “Look, Anders, no offense – you seem a nice guy and all – but we should probably keep you locked up for a while.”
I turned my gaze on him.
He cleared his throat again and poured another glass of water. He took an awkward sip. “Well, you know – the evidence seems to indicate—”
“What evidence?” I asked. “That all these…things…started happening after I arrived? That’s not evidence, that’s just circumstance.”
“Look, we’re all agreed that it must have been someone here in this room that’s been doing all this, aren’t we? And I know everyone here. Everyone except you, Anders.” He shrugged, gave a weak smile. “It’s not evidence, I know that, but – well, are we supposed to sit here and wait to be picked off one by one? If Anders is locked up in his room, and things keep happening, then we’ll know he’s not behind it, right?”
I tried to gauge the faces around the table. There was no help to be found there; hostility and blankness, that was all I saw. Silence lay over us, heavy and cold as a snowdrift. I looked to Max but she wouldn’t even meet my eyes. “Are you making a serious proposal? Is this something we need to argue about?” I asked.
“I don’t really know,” Keegan said with a frown. “I hadn’t really thought it through. What do the rest of you think?”
“I think we can do better than some orphanage reject,” Greigor said just loud enough for me to catch.
“Yeah, well, fuck you,” I said. I was tired, I was fed up, and I was sick of being the target. I stood, causing Keegan to sway back in alarm. “I know I’ve done nothing but try to help. And I know that this is no democracy and that we have a command structure here. So I say you can all go and screw yourselves. There’s no way I’m letting myself be locked up when I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Keegan shrugged and said nothing. The rest of the crew exchanged glances but, again, no one would meet my gaze.
“Right,” I said. “I’m going to my room. Doctor, if you’d step out with me? I’d like a word.” I paced the corridor as Fischer took her time to follow. When at last she emerged I beckoned impatiently and led the way around a corner and into the infirmary – the nearest door. “What d’you think you’re doing?” I snapped as soon as the door was shut behind her.
She looked at me in surprise, her eyes slowly coming into focus.
“You’ve got to stop smoking that damn weed,” I continued. “Look at you! You can barely function.”
“I’m not doing anyone any harm,” she said.
“What about Mikhail? Think you can look after him in that state?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I can. He’s stable. He’s unconscious. I know what I’m doing, Nordvelt, and I’m not doing any harm. If you don’t trust me – well, I’ve been a doctor longer than you’ve been alive, and you’re just an emotionally stunted little prick. I know what I’m doing. Now fuck off and leave me alone.” She paced over to the MRI machine and absently poked at the cables.
“Fischer, you’re responsible for the lives of the people here. We need you – I need you – awake and alert. You can’t slack off anymore. Like it or not, the crew needs you to be able to take decisions, to—”
“To back you up?” Fischer sneered. “I’m not stupid, Nordvelt. Yeah, I’m stoned, but I can still follow a conversation. You’re just pissed because I didn’t back you up, didn’t defend you when Keegan said you should be locked up. Well, answer me this – why should I? Did you ever stop to think that I might agree with him?”
“I don’t give a damn whether you agree or not. You want to lock me up? Go ahead. Make that decision. Just don’t sit there like you don’t give a fuck about
anything. You’re one of the leaders and we need you to lead!”
The doctor swayed back. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused. Her shoulders slumped. “This is a nightmare. I can’t do this,” she whispered, half to herself.
“Yes, you can. Of course you can. The Julia Fischer I first met could handle anything. What happened to her, hey?” I tried to keep the impatience out of my words. I already regretted losing my temper, but still part of me wanted to yell at her, to purge myself of the frustrations that had been building up in me. “The Company knows you can handle this – you passed the Psych tests, didn’t you?”
She smiled grimly. “After all that’s happened, I’m struggling to keep any faith in the Psych.”
My mouth fell open – shocking words, especially coming from a Company doctor. I stared at her for a moment, then cleared my throat. “I don’t—”
“Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m tired, I don’t know what I’m saying.” She leaned back against the bench and ran a hand through her graying hair. I’d never seen her look so old, so small.
My anger had faded completely now. I crossed to her and she flinched at my touch. “Come on, Julia, it’s okay. I’m tired too, I’m fed up…I’m sorry. Go and get a good night’s sleep and things will be better in the morning.”
She looked up at me. “You mean we’ll wake up and Anton will still be alive? Theo too?” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I’ll wake up and McCarthy will still be here, and you’ll be back in your block?”
I felt sick, suddenly cold as if I were suffering from pneumonia again. I sighed, my head bowed in despair. “Just try and cut down on the marijuana. That’s all I’m asking,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.
Fischer just stared down to the floor and was silent.
I left her in the infirmary and went back to my room. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take – it was constant now, the stress. I felt brittle, a dead thing ready to break. My only hope was that Fischer wasn’t too addled to sort out the Psych test properly. I was desperate to take it – I had to take it. It was the only way to prove my innocence.
* * *
I was at breakfast next morning when the call came in – a crackly voice, Keegan’s, on the intercom. “Help…help us,” he croaked. His voice was weak, plaintive, and was followed by a noise that sounded terribly organic, like he was throwing up.
For a moment I was frozen. Then I dropped my cutlery and scrambled to the comm panel on the wall.
“Please, anybody,” Keegan’s voice came again, broken by weak coughs and spitting – the sounds of distress.
I reached the panel, but before I could reply, I heard Weng’s sharp tones in answer. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Fischer’s down – un-uncon…help us,” came Keegan’s voice.
“Where are you?” Weng asked again.
“Outside – by the greenhouse…”
He must have said more, but I was already running, running towards the vestibule, where I converged with Dmitri and Weng. I shared a fearful glance with the Ukrainian. Weng was too preoccupied with her suit to look at me. “Far side of the greenhouse, nearest the oil tanks – that’s what he said.” She tugged at her boots.
I nodded and, not waiting for the others, fastened the final seal around my neck, pulled on my mask and ran outside into the darkness. There were no stars this morning, no moon either. But the lights mounted on the buildings were enough; I sprinted across the courtyard towards Maggie’s lair. There was a fresh breeze; little snow-eddies danced around me. My boots crunched over the ice. Far corner, nearest the oil tanks. I reached the greenhouse and ran along its face, past the airlock and to the end of the building. I skidded round. There, in a pool of lamplight about three hundred yards away, were two suited figures. One was bent double, nose almost on the ground as they threw up. The other lay prostrate on the floor, unmoving.
“Keegan?” I yelled as I ran on.
The retching figure raised a hand but did not – maybe could not – reply. Finally reaching them, panting for breath while Keegan fell to his knees, whimpering piteously. Fischer lay motionless, face down on the frozen ground, vomit dribbling between her lips, a half-smoked joint on the ice by her outstretched hand. Both people were maskless. I recoiled slightly at the oversweet smell of vomit, then knelt beside her. The floodlights made her long hair glow silver, half her face invisible in shadow. I hurriedly pulled off my glove, barely feeling the cold as I reached for Fischer’s pulse. It was there, but weak and far too fast.
“Oh God, I’m dying,” Keegan wailed before a fresh bout of sickness came over him and he retched again.
“What’s happened?” Dmitri called. I turned to see him and Weng rounding the corner of the greenhouse. Upon reaching us, Weng immediately fell to her knees with Fischer between us.
“She’s alive,” I said.
Weng was still breathing heavily from the run. She nodded and pulled back Fischer’s eyelid to check the pupil.
“Can we move them?” I asked.
“What happened here?” Dmitri said at the same time, the shock clear in his tone.
“Get me inside,” Keegan sobbed. “Please, I’m dying, get me to the infirmary.” He tried to get to his feet but was overtaken by another fit of vomiting and doubled over.
I looked at Weng. “Can we take them inside?”
She nodded. “Kalinchenko, you take the doctor. We’ll get this one.”
Dmitri seemed glad to be given something straightforward to do. He nodded back at Weng and bent to pick up the body; he lifted Fischer with ease, as if she were hollow. Her head rolled back over the big man’s arm, a string of drool like spider silk linking her momentarily to the ground, but other than that she remained frighteningly still.
“Can you walk?” I asked Keegan. When he didn’t answer I bent down to take him under one arm and raised him, unsteadily, to his feet.
“You can manage?” Weng asked.
“Yes…yes,” I replied, getting the lean figure standing up straight. Keegan’s head lolled around and I did my best to avoid the flecks of yellow vomit that spun off his chin.
“Bring both to the infirmary,” she said. And without further explanation she went ahead, overtaking Dmitri with his burden as she sprinted back to the barracks.
Before I set off to follow her, I had one last look at the joint that still lay in the small patch of light by the greenhouse. I would have to go back out for that.
Chapter Fifteen
There was no point in hanging around the ward. Weng and Abi, working as Weng’s assistant, didn’t need me getting in their way. The rest of the crew were unsure what to do; they knew they shouldn’t just stand around and wait for news but they had nothing else to be getting on with. They were waiting in the rec room, pacing the floor or sitting dead-eyed around the table.
Keegan had not been able to make it to the infirmary without being sick again and I offered to clean the corridor. The unhealthy sweet-cloying smell was unpleasant but at least I got a moment alone to collect myself. It also gave me the chance to go back outside and collect the joint and have a more thorough scout around the area. I found a second butt but nothing more. No unexplained footprints, no mysterious notes – nothing but the evidence of smoking.
Once the corridor was mopped and disinfected I went down to my office and checked the security cameras, more in hope than expectation. To my surprise they clearly showed Fischer and Keegan leaving the barracks and heading towards the greenhouse – but then that wasn’t suspicious. I knew what they were going out for. I spooled forward to check that nobody had followed them out, then ran back to the previous night. And there it was. A short period – maybe just half an hour – when the cameras had recorded nothing at all. I sat there for a second, drumming my fingers on the table. Then I headed back up to the rec room.
All conversation ceased
the moment I entered. The crew stared at me with cold, scared faces. I was getting used to the feeling of mistrust that I was carrying on my shoulders. I ignored the engineers and turned straight to Maggie.
“Can I have a word with you, please?”
“Of course,” she said in a neutral tone of voice. But she didn’t move.
“I’d like to speak to you alone.”
“And I’d rather have people around me,” she shot back.
“If you’ve got something to say to Maggie,” Fergie put in, “then you can say it to us all.”
I hesitated. “Fine,” I said. “I was just going to ask if you could analyze these for me.” I pulled out a small, clear bag into which I had put the half-smoked joint and the butt I’d found outside.
All four of them took a few steps towards me, looking at what I was holding up.
“Joints?” Max asked.
“Keegan and Fischer had been smoking them when they…when they became sick,” I said, my voice heavy.
“You think there was something in the weed – they were poisoned?” Maggie said.
“I don’t know, but Fischer and Keegan looked like they’d had a reaction to something. I think it’s worth checking, that’s all.”
I handed Maggie the little bag of evidence, and she immediately drew out the half-smoked joint and sniffed at it.
“You know,” Fergie said, “you were overheard last night, Nordvelt.”