*
As they entered the flight deck, she saw Harris pause and look up at her.
“Shouldn’t you be resting, corporal?” he asked firmly.
The others in the room, McKinley, Hunter, Brown and Bulk, turned and stared at her. She suddenly felt self-conscious, especially under McKinley’s piercing stare.
“She assures me she’s up to it, captain,” Doc answered for her, walking down the tiers of the flight deck.
“I am, sir,” she said confidently. “And I don’t want to sit back while everyone else is working hard to find him.”
Harris studied her for a moment, eyes wary. “Alright, Welles, but you so much as look like you’re about to pass out, I’m banning your ass until we get home,” he told her. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she said firmly, clearing the croak from her throat as she reached the console. She glanced over at Brown and saw him looking between her neck and her eye, Hunter and Bolkov doing the same. “I’m fine. Trust me,” she told them.
“Welles.” Harris narrowed his eyes at her. “A question.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was Grolsh saying to you when he had you up against the wall? Can you remember?”
Carrie thought for a moment, recalling Grolsh’s hot breath on her face. She looked back at the captain as an uncomfortable feeling prickled her skin. “He said, ‘You’re ours now. You belong to us.’”
The silence sat in the room for a moment, as they all stared at her.
Harris stood and turned to McKinley. “I want you to get the others and take the survivors back to the bio cell. If they argue, tell them I’m locking them up for withholding information and obstructing justice. Wear your comms. I want evidence if they decide to speak.”
“Yes, sir,” McKinley gave a nod. As he walked past Carrie, his piercing eyes locked with hers. She wondered whether he was quietly reveling in the fact that he’d been right about her self-defense capabilities. Although, if he was, his face wasn’t showing it.
“Bulk,” Harris continued, “when Smith comes back, I want you two to fix the Darwin’s comms issues once and for all. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Bolkov gave him a slow nod.
“And I want the rest of you to keep searching for ways to get to the Darwin’s hidden floor.”
Colt stepped forward to look over Brown’s shoulder. “There’s a hidden floor?”
*
Carrie looked at Harris. “You say you saw the cat in one of the offices?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it came from there,” he answered.
“Is there an air vent in that office?” Packham asked.
“Yeah,” Brown replied, “but we checked the headcam footage. Gap’s not big enough for a cat to squeeze through.”
“Can you merge the current floor plan with a satellite picture to see where there are gaps big enough for an elevator or stairwell?” the sergeant continued.
Brown shook his head. “Station’s classified, so there’s no satellite picture, but we did figure out the approximate measurements of the station. Kiwi, bring that back up on the screen.”
Hunter turned back to the console and brought up the floor plan, merged on top of a rough hexagonal background with the Darwin’s approximate measurements, as worked out by Bolkov. Just then four monitors appeared beside it; McKinley’s, Carter’s, Smith’s and Louis’s.
The captain focused his attention on them. “I want to watch this.”
Everyone looked at the monitors and saw Chet, Logan and Fairmont eyeing the cameras with expressionless faces.
“Taking us somewhere?” Chet asked in a low voice.
“Stand up,” McKinley ordered them.
They remained seated. Fairmont looked over at Logan and Chet for his lead.
“I said stand up!” McKinley said again, more forcefully.
“I would like to know where you plan to take us?” Chet said, his voice now an octave or two higher.
“They’re taking us back to the bio cell,” Logan said, staring at McKinley.
“As the captain warned you earlier, due to your lack of cooperation, you are now being held for withholding information and obstructing justice,” McKinley advised.
The three stared back in silence for a moment.
“Get … up!” McKinley ordered, his voice tight.
They continued to sit silently at the table, staring back. The seconds ticked past.
Fairmont suddenly jumped up, roaring as he did, and flipped the table over at McKinley. He quickly dodged out of the way and snapped his gun up. Louis, Carter and Smith did the same as cards rained down over them.
“Do that again and I’ll blow your FUCKIN’ HEAD OFF,” McKinley yelled.
Logan and Chet stood up slowly, calmly, as Fairmont breathed heavily with anger, shoulders broad and pulsing for a fight.
“You didn’t say please,” Chet said menacingly, his dead eyes staring at McKinley.
“C’mon Fairmont,” Logan said, walking around the upturned table.
Carrie saw Harris and Doc exchange concerned looks, then turn back to the screens.
*
Harris watched carefully, as the three survivors walked ahead of McKinley’s team. His lieutenant had motioned for his men to tag a survivor each, so Carter and Louis moved to walk slightly behind Fairmont and Chet, and Smith walked just behind Logan. McKinley stood back a little further watching all of them.
They walked in silence as they left the Aurora and cleared Section One of the Darwin.
As they entered Section Two, Chet turned to Fairmont. “Wouldn’t it be great if Grolsh were here right now?”
“Yeah!” he laughed.
As soon as he’d spoken, there was a thud, McKinley’s monitor went haywire and was suddenly viewing the floor. All at once there was yelling, gunfire and chaos, while Harris quickly eyed the monitors trying to figure out what was going on. He saw Fairmont standing over Carter, tossing his gun down the corridor. Louis and Chet appeared to be fighting, his camera moving about everywhere, and Smith’s camera appeared to be falling to the floor.
He quickly eyed McKinley’s monitor again and saw him getting up off the ground and shooting in the direction of what appeared to be Grolsh.
“FUCK! MCKINLEY!” Carter yelled.
McKinley snapped his head back around to see Carter’s bloodied face leaning over Smith and the other three survivors darting around the corner of the corridor. He raised his gun to fire, but it was too late. They were gone. He quickly snapped back around to see that Grolsh was gone too.
“Fuck!” he hissed, as he swiftly moved over to Carter and looked down to see him pressing his hand on Smith’s neck, which was bleeding profusely, as he choked and gargled up blood.
Doc shot forward to the console and yelled into the microphone. “Get him back to the ship, McKinley. NOW!”
Carrie watched in disbelief as McKinley swiftly removed his gun, tore off his shirt, shoved it against Smith’s neck, then swung his gun back on.
“Help me grab him,” McKinley barked at Carter.
The two of them lifted Smith, Carter grabbing his legs and McKinley lifting him under his arms and around his neck, holding the shirt in place.
“Louis, cover us! Stay sharp!” McKinley yelled.
“Brown, let’s go get them,” Harris yelled, as he raced up the flight deck stairs.
“Meet you in the hospital,” Doc said, as he flew up the stairs behind them.
Carrie began to run up the stairs too, and Colt followed. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she knew she had to go. Packham, Hunter and Bolkov stayed behind, eyes glued to the screens, their faces showing alarm.
Carrie reached the hospital and found Doc frantically running around with bags of blood in his hands.
“What can we do?” Carrie asked.
“Over there.” He pointed to a cabinet. “Get out bandages and swabs. Lots of them.”
Carrie and Colt started pulling out armfuls of the stuff and ran it all over to Doc, who threw them on one of the beds. He snapped on some gloves, then grabbed swabs, ripping open the sterilized bags they were in. Then they heard yelling in the distance.
“Out of the way,” Doc ordered as he rushed for the door.
Carrie stepped aside and Colt cleared out into the office. Within seconds, Doc came running back through with McKinley and Harris who were holding Smith, as he continued to cough and gargle blood. They put him on one of the pod-beds, and McKinley stepped away, as Doc immediately removed McKinley's sodden shirt from Smith’s neck, and started applying it with fresh swabs.
“Hold them tight!” he ordered Harris, who moved into position.
Carrie eyed McKinley, his was face pale and tight. He stood there for a moment, watching, then backed off and left the room. Doc grabbed the IV he’d connected up to one of the blood bags and quickly inserted it into Smith’s arm.
“Smith, you stay with me, you hear,” Harris said urgently.
Doc ripped Smith’s bloodied shirt open, then quickly wiped the blood away so he could stick some monitors on him. She heard his faint heartbeat as the corresponding monitor lit up.
“D— Do— oc …” Smith gasped, as he snatched tightly onto Doc’s shirt.
“I’ve got you, Pete, you save your breath,” he told him, squeezing Smith’s fist as it scrunched his shirt.
“Private, you look at me!” Harris almost bellowed at him. “We’ve got you, you hear? We’ve got you.”
Doc moved the swabs slightly, trying to figure out what the damage was. Carrie saw blood pooling over his hands.
“Fuck,” he said worriedly, “he’s losing a lot of blood.”
“Capta—” Smith gargled as he struggled to get out the words he wanted to say. Within seconds his body began to calm and his grip loosened around Doc’s shirt.
“Smith! SMITH,” Harris yelled.
The heart monitor suddenly fell to a single long beep. Doc looked over at it, then snapped his eyes back to the young private.
“PETE!” Doc yelled, as he started pumping his chest. “Stay with me, Pete!”
“Doc, his eyes aren’t looking at me,” Harris said worriedly.
“Just keep holding his neck!” Doc furiously pumped Smith’s chest as his body fell completely limp, his hand falling from Doc’s shirt; Carrie could see it bounce with every compression Doc made.
She turned and walked slowly to the doorway of Doc’s office. She saw Carter standing there, holding a bandage to his bleeding nose, which was clearly broken. Colt stood by Louis, holding a bandage to his shoulder, and Brown stood on his own, staring at the wall.
“C’mon, Pete. C’mon …” she heard Doc’s voice pleading.
She looked out the doorway into the corridor and saw Smith’s blood on the floor, smeared by their footprints. She listened as Doc continued to pump Smith’s chest, exhaling loudly, rhythmically, stopping only to breathe his breath into the young man.
“Doc,” Harris said quietly, “his eyes aren’t coming back to me. They’re staring at nothing.”
“He’s lost … a lot … of blood … too much,” Doc managed as he continued to pump breathlessly.
“Doc?” Harris said.
“I’m not giving up! A few more minutes!” Doc panted.
Carrie looked around at the pod-bed. Doc was sweating now and he had Smith’s blood halfway up to his elbows, breathing desperately into soldier’s mouth. The silence on the Aurora was deafening, broken only by the sounds of Doc’s panting as he continued with the chest compressions, and the long flat beep of the heart monitor.
Harris’s brown face looked pale as he reached up with one of his bloodied hands and closed Smith’s eyes.
“Doc, call it,” he said. “His eyes are lost. He’s gone.”
Doc glanced up at him, then back down to Smith’s face.
Harris eyed the private as well. “You said it yourself. He’s lost too much blood.” The captain looked Doc firmly in the eye. “Call it,” he ordered.
Doc started slowing the pumps to Smith’s chest.
“What’s the time, Doc?” Harris asked softly, but firmly.
Doc stopped and stepped back from Smith’s body, holding his bloodied hands out slightly to the side. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder, staring at Harris, then back at Smith’s lifeless body. Doc reluctantly lifted his arm to read his watch. He looked at it, but couldn’t see as it was covered in blood. He pulled his shirt up and wiped the face of it.
“2209,” Doc said.
Harris nodded at him slowly, then let go of Smith’s neck.
Carrie turned and moved slowly out into the corridor, feeling as though she were floating. The only sound now was the single flat beep of the heart monitor. She heard Doc yell “FUCK!” and there was a simultaneous loud bang that made her flinch. She stood in the corridor looking down at Smith’s blood smeared along the floor, and felt her whole body begin to rattle with shock.
Something moved to her right, and she looked over to see McKinley standing there, shirtless, and covered in Smith’s blood. His hands were by his sides and he was looking down at his feet, his face ashen, his jaw clenched.
“A— are you okay?” she managed to croak. “Are you hurt?”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and shook his head very slightly.
The heart monitor stopped, then. Doc must’ve turned it off. It was so quiet now. Colt made her way out into the hall. She had some towels in her hand and walked over to the line of blood and began to clean it up. She looked numb, like she was on autopilot. Carrie walked over and took one of the towels and began to help her.
She could hear slight movement coming from the rooms, but no-one was speaking. She wiped at the blood, amazed at how much there seemed to be. Her heart raced, mirroring the shaking of her hands. Colt’s vigorous wiping movements sent a whiff of the blood straight to Carrie’s nostrils. She suddenly felt woozy. Oh, shit! I can’t pass out. Not now. She plonked down on her backside and slid her way backward to lean up against the wall and started taking deep breaths.
“Put your head between your knees,” McKinley said in a quiet, tight voice.
She glanced up at him, and those piercing blue eyes stared back. She put her head down and began taking deep breaths again. She started feeling better.
“So what do we do now, captain?” she heard Carter ask, his voice strained.
“You get your nose looked at,” Harris said, somewhat softly.
“Fuck that, captain,” Louis shouted angrily. “We have to get them and get them now!”
“No Louis,” Harris told him.
“What do you mean, no?”
“We need to regroup, Louis.” Harris told him. “They’ll be long gone into their hiding place. If we go after them now it will be futile. You’re injured, Carter’s injured! We need to regroup! Hunter will have the ship locked down, so they can’t get on here. We have to deal with Smith, and we need to figure out where the fuck they’re hiding, so we know what we’re dealing with,” Harris said in tense, angry voice.
“And we need to fully brief the team, captain,” Doc said firmly.
Carrie looked over her shoulder through the doorway and saw Doc and Harris staring at each other. Just then, Hunter, Bolkov and Packham came walking down the corridor. They saw the bloodied towels.
“Smith …” Colt shook her head at them.
“We saw over the comms,” Hunter said, clenching his jaw.
Carrie looked back into the hospital and saw that Smith still had his headpiece on.
“Ok, listen up!” Harris called from the doorway to Doc’s office. He looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention. “Everyone just take a few minutes to absorb this, alright? Smith is dead. Do what you have to do, but I want you all in the mess hall in 20 minutes. That’s all I can give you. We need to move on this. Do you understand?” Harr
is voice was authoritative, but not harsh. She heard the compassion that he was trying to convey.
He turned and walked off in the direction of his quarters. Brown exited the room and headed down the corridor toward the mess and the pilots followed. Colt stood up and took her bloodied towels back into the rooms.
“Where shall I put this, Doc?” she asked softly.
Carrie stood and turned to see Doc looking down at the towel as he took it from her. He looked over at Louis. “Laserfire?”
Louis shook his head. “He ripped into me with his hands and teeth!”
Doc shot him a confused look, then turned and studied Carter’s face.
“I’ll be with you in a second,” he said, and headed back into the hospital where Smith lay.
McKinley turned abruptly then, and walked off in the direction of his room, and Colt followed behind, to hers. Carrie stood there for a moment not sure what to do. She looked through into the hospital and saw Doc placing a sheet over the young private.
How did this happen …? A couple of hours ago they were all playing cards, and now this. All because of the incident between her and Grolsh. Did she cause this? Was this her fault? If she hadn’t left the mess hall on her own, would this have happened? Would Smith still be alive?
She moved to stand in the doorway, “C— can I do anything?” she asked, although her voice did not come easy.
Doc looked at her, and his eyes held a quiet devastation to them. He shook his head slightly, then walked over to a basin, snapped off his gloves, and started scrubbing his hands.
She watched him for a moment, then looked down at her own hands, and noticed they were surprisingly clean.
*
Harris sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face in his hands. Two years he’d been on the Aurora and he’d never lost a man. Some had been injured, but never before had he lost one, despite all the battles they’d had with pirates and thugs. Never before had he lost a team member on his watch, under his command. Smith was just a kid. A kid with a bright future ahead of him and now it was gone in the blink of an eye … the blink of an eye … Twenty-one was just too young. Did I do this? Could I have stopped this? Should I have warned them? Told them of my suspicions? What the fuck have I done …?
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