A. K. A. The Alien: series 3

by Lindsay Tomlinson

every-one wanted me to call them by their first name, apart from Lieutenant Shue. I was still analysing the meaning behind this.

  Lieutenant Shue was still wearing his fire-retardant suit and was looking tired.

  “Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant Shue?” I asked.

  “If you must.”

  “Why haven’t I been assigned to any of the response teams?”

  “Captain Southey thought it would be easier for you to ‘observe’ if you were not directly involved,” he replied with hardly a pause.

  I might have believed him had I not seen Lieutenant Harris trying to hide his smile. Lieutenant Shue was good at protecting his captain with believable excuses at short notice. Or lying, as it is sometimes called. He ran his hands through his hair and gave his scalp a good rub.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “You invariably do.”

  “Who looks after the fish during an evacuation of the ship?”

  “The fish?”

  “The fish in the aquarium in -”

  “I know where the fish live. Why are you worried about the fish?”

  “Oh, I’m not. I just wondered. I know humans are sentimental about their pets.”

  “I’m afraid the fish get left behind.”

  “If we had a ship’s cat like the Artemis Explorer has would the cat also be left behind?”

  Lieutenant Shue hesitated. “No, some-one would probably save the cat.”

  “But not the fish.”

  “Not the fish.”

  “I see.”

  “What can I say? Humans are inconsistent.”

  “And the fish get it.”

  “The fish get it.”

  3.13. The forever fish

  Making the replacement queen angelfish turned out to be a mistake. I was standing in front of the aquarium watching it swim back and forth, shunned by the other fish who knew something was wrong with it and who assumed by default that it had to be a predator. It was externally indistinguishable from the other angelfish but it was never going to die and if I was not careful in a few years it would become an object of great interest to science. As I had had to include a little part of myself within it to make it move, it usually lay on the surface of the water until I sensed some-one coming in through the door, at which point it would suddenly jerk into life and start swimming again. This was a pain to both monitor and maintain.

  I was going to have to kill it. So to speak.

  “Interested in the little fishies, are we?”

  I turned to face the speaker.

  “I am.”

  Retrieval Technician Stashower would drill samples when we reached the asteroid, but until then worked in the maintenance department. He was a big man who always had a cheerful smile on his face and an easily recognisable laugh. He was also a bully. I had seen him take desserts off people in the canteen, toss other people’s food onto the floor, or stick a finger in the food just before they ate it, and always with that smile on his face. He chose people who would not stand up to him, and I was curious about how he managed to hunt them out, although I had not yet asked him about this.

  “You’re Ben, right?” Stashower said, grinning and holding out his hand to me. “I guess I’ve got to thank you. I haven’t had a ship-board berth in a while, and then this chance comes along, enhanced pay and all.”

  “Hello, Technician Stashower.”

  “Hey, you know who I am. My fame’s spread already, huh?”

  “I know the names of all the crew.”

  “Well, that told me, didn’t it?”

  I decided to kill the fish some other time. I picked up my sketch pad and nexus from the nearby table, and Stashower made a grab for the nexus. This was something else he did. He’d capture a nexus, hoping some-one was writing a note home or making a diary entry, and would read a line or two aloud. If he found nothing of interest, he’d just make something up. He would be smiling, pretending it was all a harmless joke, but his intention was to embarrass.

  My reactions were distinctly faster than his, and I held on tight. He looked surprised at his failure to snare the nexus, and then a little foolish. I decided on a little non-verbal communication, and went for a menacing look, one I had not yet found an opportunity to try out. This was the perfect situation.

  And it worked. His eyes widened and he retreated a step, holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Hey, just a joke. No harm meant,” he said, only it hadn’t been a joke, and harm had most certainly been meant. He backed away unsmiling, probably to go in search of easier prey.

  I was pleased with the way my intimidating look had worked, and wondered if perhaps I could get away with using it a bit more often. Say on people pestering me to be their new best friend.

  I turned back to the aquarium. I was hoping that if I could scoop the fish out no-one would notice its absence for a while, and I was just reaching out for it when a woman rushed into the room with a backward glance over her shoulder, typical of some-one getting out of the way of Stashower. I did my best to look innocent, although I doubted she really noticed me.

  I was going to have to come back some other time. Killing fish was harder than I’d anticipated.

  3.14. Blasphemer

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said.

  “The answer’s no.”

  I ignored Lieutenant Shue. We were sitting in the bar after the evening meal, and he was stretched out, head back and eyes closed, with a drink in hand. Captain Southey was not easy on him.

  “What if I had a broken leg?” I suggested. “It would not inconvenience Dr Howard much, and I could still work.”

  “Jesus, Ben, what goes on in that head of yours?”

  “Don’t blaspheme,” said some-one behind us.

  Lieutenant Shue sat up straight. Sitting in the next bay of seats was Deputy Chief Scientist Wilson, who had twisted round in her seat and was frowning hard at the Lieutenant.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

  I looked at him. “Are you a blasphemer?” I asked. “Ooh. I’ve not met a blasphemer before.”

  “You should not take our Lord’s name in vain,” Wilson said severely. “He is our Saviour and our sole route to salvation.”

  “How do you know he was taking the Lord’s name in vain?” I asked her out of interest. Wilson stopped glaring at Lieutenant Shue and glared at me instead. “I mean, Lieutenant Shue often finds working with me difficult.” Now Lieutenant Shue was glaring at me. “How do you know it was not a genuine call for help?”

  “That was not a prayer for help,” she replied. “That was simple blasphemy.”

  “It won’t happen again, ma’am,” Lieutenant Shue said.

  “Our Lord Jesus gave his life for us,” she continued. “He bled out on the tree in great pain and agony for our sins, and the very least we can do is show him a little respect.”

  “Religion!” I said. “I’ve not even started on religion yet.”

  “Oh no,” Lieutenant Shue said. “No, no. You are not going there.”

  “There must be lots of different religions on board. I can try each one in turn. A week as each.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Instead of mocking Our Lord Christ, you should let him into your heart,” Wilson said, still lecturing the Lieutenant.

  “Yes!” said I.

  “No!” said Lieutenant Shue.

  “Yes!” said Wilson.

  Lieutenant Shue was looking trapped between Deputy Chief Scientist Wilson, who could cause trouble for him with the Captain, and myself, who always troubled him, when all he had wanted was a quiet drink at the end of a long day.

  “Alright,” I relented. “I won’t do religion.”

  “I will gladly tell you all about our Lord God the Redeemer, Ben,” Wilson offered.

  “Ma’am, remember what the Captain -”

  “Oh,” she said, looking disgruntled, torn between her desire to be obedient and so one day make Chief Scientist, and her equal desir
e to recruit me into her church.

  “We can’t talk about religion, but perhaps you would like to join us for a drink,” I invited.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Um, don’t you risk dying of dehydration?” I asked. Lieutenant Shue gave me a kick-under-the-table look.

  “I meant, I don’t touch alcoholic drinks,” she replied. “And nor should you.”

  “Really? Why don’t you come over here and explain why to me?”

  The look Lieutenant Shue gave me this time was pretty indescribable. I would really have to practise that one.

  “With pleasure,” said Deputy Chief Scientist Wilson, standing up.

  3.15. The fishes’ story

  The problem of what to do about the fish in the case of a full-ship evacuation was solved when some-one poured cleaning fluid into their tank and killed the lot. At first I did not realise what had happened and my queen angelfish continued to swim about in lonely state while its companions bobbed about on the surface. When I was told about the sabotage I allowed my fish to succumb, belatedly, to the poison and join its companions in death. To the disappointment of many who had been cheered that at least one had survived the massacre.

  There was much indignation and disbelief and an investigation was soon set in motion. Officially no-one knew who had done it, but unofficially I could guess at Recovery Technician Stashower. It was the sort of underhand payback he liked. I was observing him on and off, in non-corporeal form, and had found out that as well as public humiliations he was happy with more private triumphs. He told tales that made work companions look bad to their supervisors and stole items just to inconvenience or upset their owners. Killing the fish was just the sort of thing to appeal to him.

  I had originally started my observations to discover how he