I sat down again and rubbed the balls of my hands into my eyes, trying to force the emotions to numb. Failing, I whispered, “God…” Again, I didn’t know what else to say. I closed my eyes and squeezed out a tear. Then I swallowed twice, opened my eyes, and stood up. I turned, walked out of sickbay, and started towards my brother’s room.
When I got there and opened the door, he wasn’t alone. He was propped against a pillow, on top of his covers, still in his uniform, boots and all, and Guilders sat in a hard chair beside him. From the sentence I heard as I walked in, I judged that he was telling August about all that had passed.
“…nothing we could do. Gerard is going to talk to the Captain.”
I tapped the doorframe with my knuckles, and they both turned to me. August’s face was even paler than usual. He said nothing, but reached both arms towards me. Blinking and clutching a handful of my skirt to try to keep the tears from returning, I hurried to him, sat on the edge of his bed, and let him pull me close.
He stroked my hair for a moment, then asked, “What do we do now?”
I felt the numbness I’d wanted settle upon me from my forehead down as his hand moved gently over my hair, and Guilders’ low, calm voice answered, “We’re getting close now. If we want to keep Trent from making the biggest mistake of his career, we need proof.”
I reluctantly pulled away from August and sat up, letting my tear-stained eyes meet Guilders’ steady ones. “Proof of what?”
“Of the guilt of Captain Holloway and Doctor Pearson. I don’t believe anything else would turn him around now.”
“Oh, Guilders… you don’t really think that N— Captain Holloway is behind it?” I cried.
He raised a bushy white eyebrow, but answered in level tones. “I don’t see how it could be otherwise.”
I set my lips in a firm line, but didn’t argue. “What do we do, then?”
The whine of the engines heightened just perceptively, and I tensed and looked at the ceiling. My body, fine-tuned to the subtleties of starship motion, discerned an increase in speed.
Guilders leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been trying to anticipate their next move. We guessed their last move, but not soon enough.”
My throat constricted, and a shiver prickled on my cheeks. August laid a hand on mine and kept his eyes fixed on Guilders.
“We must not be timid this time. We need to catch them in the act. I don’t know what they expect to gain from this visit to the center, but whatever it is, I believe they’ll want to leave with it as soon as they have it. But how to keep from implicating themselves in the punishment that will result from the trip?”
I swallowed hard, but continued to listen silently.
“They have demonstrated their genius when it comes to technology, and manipulating our systems to their needs. I believe they will delete themselves from the record of this event, and chalk it up to system failure.”
I sucked in a quick breath.
“They can then either implicate the Captain themselves by reporting him to ISA, or leave him alone and make their escape. I’d guess the latter.”
“So you want us to watch the records room?” I asked breathlessly.
He nodded. “If you are both willing, you can take turns, and then report any activity to me. I’ll take it from there.”
“What kind of activity?” I asked, sitting up a bit straighter.
“Seeing them go in would be enough, or if they go in through the other door, hearing them.”
“Why don’t we watch both doors?” August asked. “Since there are two of us.”
Guilders shook his head. “Gerard certainly would not approve of you two watching for goodness knows how long without rest. And I’m afraid that there’s no one else available at the moment. McMillan, Gerard, and myself are the only other crewmen I’d fully trust, and McMillan and Gerard are too busy, while I am almost certain that they are watching me.”
“Watching you?” August asked. “Why?”
“Because they think that I am a threat to them, naturally. I publicly protested their mission in the most extreme way open to me.”
Another shiver ran through me. “It’s all right,” I said, the syllables sounding strangely detached. “I’ll do it.”
“Me too,” August affirmed. “And I’ll go first. I’ve been resting for awhile, and…” he turned to me.
“Get some food,” Guilders agreed. “Is an hour too long a time to watch?”
“It’s fine with me,” August said.
“Fine with me,” I echoed, not caring much whether it was one hour or three.
All three of us stood up. “Contact me on your wristcom if anything happens,” Guilders instructed. “Don’t say anything. Just beep me. I’ll stay on this deck, so I can be there in a few seconds.”
Another agreement, then August gave me a quick hug, and hurried to his post.
I turned towards the door and took a deep breath, which was more like a sigh. Guilders reached forward and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, but couldn’t bring myself to speak. “The Doctor said I should go see Almira,” I managed at last.
His low voice rumbled, “Yes, that sounds wise.” He gave my shoulder a barely perceptible squeeze, then let go. I didn’t turn to face him; I just walked out of the room and took the elevator up to B-Deck.
When I entered the mess hall, it was silent and empty. Not a single table or barstool was occupied, but a light from the open galley door shone a wide golden beam on the desolate room.
A cheerful clatter sounded from within, and I stepped slowly towards the light, listening as each of my footfalls echoed from the distant corners.
There was neither humming nor singing from the galley as I approached it, only the rattle of dishes and cookware. Almira must have heard about Lee.
I looked in when I reached the doorway and watched for a moment as she dried each item and put it carefully away in the bright metal cabinets. I could still smell soup—from somewhere to my right. I turned, and there on the white metal counter was a tray, carefully covered.
“It’s for you, honey,” the warm voice told me. I jerked my head to face her, and she smiled softly. “I knew you’d be down after awhile.”
Her kind, motherly voice made my eyes threaten to overflow again, so I flew to her and hid my face against her apron, putting my arms around her as far as they would go.
“Oh, honey…” She held me close, and it was a different kind of comfort. With the Doctor or August it was strong and protective, but with her it was soft and warm. “There, there.”
I rested against her until my tears faded again, then I pulled back and tried to smile at her.
She took me firmly by the shoulders. “He was a good man, honey. It’s a terrible thing. But you have to take a deep breath, look around you, see what to do next. Then see what to do next after that, and after that, and one day, you’ll find that the grief is smaller. You won’t forget it. Nobody wants you to. But it won’t hurt the same.”
I sniffed. “So what is the next thing to do?”
She smiled softly, let go of me, and reached for the tray. “Get some nutrients in that poor, tired body of yours.” And she handed the food to me.
I couldn’t help a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Hope it helps, honey.”
“Can… can I eat it in there, with you?” I asked, my voice sounding strangely childish in its wistfulness.
“Of course.” She smiled fondly, then went back to the dishes.
I set my food down, leaned against the island counter in the center of the galley, and began to eat the warm, comforting chicken soup.
“Almira?” I asked after a moment.
“Yes, dearie?”
“Has anybody you loved very much ever died?”
She froze, letting the water run in the sink for a moment. Then she reached out, shut it off, and turned to face me.
“Why do you ask? You couldn’t have cared s
o much for Mr. Trent.”
“Oh, no, of course not… but he was nice. He was just… a nice person. And… there are plenty of people who… who I do care very much about. And… one of them might die, too…”
“Oh, honey…” Flipping her checkered dishtowel onto her shoulder, Almira was at my side in four quick steps, and her arms went around me again. I didn’t cry this time. “So that’s what’s got you so down,” she whispered.
I nodded my head against her shoulder.
She rubbed my back, then let go and walked quietly back back to the dishes. I ate a few more spoonfuls, forcing the liquid past the lump in my throat.
There were a few quiet moments, with just the swishing of the soup in my mouth and the running of water as she washed. Then she turned off the water again, began to dry a plate, and said softly, “Yes.”
I looked up from my food at her. “Yes?”
“Yes. I have had… someone I loved very much die.”
“Really?”
She nodded, focusing intently on the plate she was polishing.
“Who?” As the word left my mouth I realized how little I really knew about Almira. Who did she have to care about, besides us?
“My husband.”
The words made me feel cold, and the spoonful of soup I had been swishing went still in my mouth. She kept rubbing a dry spot on the plate with her towel.
At last I swallowed my mouthful. “You… you were married?”
She nodded again, and placed the dish neatly in an open cabinet.
I didn’t know what to say. All the things I could think of, “I didn’t know that,” “I’m sorry,” “When did he die?”—none of it seemed appropriate.
Finally I said, “What was he like?”
She picked up another plate and looked at me as she began drying it, the moisture barely showing in her bright brown eyes. “He was a wonderful man,” she said, her voice warmer than ever. “Strong, and kind, and hardworking. He was a simple man… but he provided for us.”
“Us?”
She set the plate in the cabinet with studied precision. “We had a son.”
I breathed in and let my mouth fall open. Now I really had nothing to say.
“I know,” she smiled. “I don’t talk about it much. I don’t really know why. I suppose… it’s just a special kind of thing.”
I watched as she smiled at me, then turned back to the pile of dishes. Then I shoved the last few bites into my mouth, swallowed, and slipped over to her. I reached out and took her plump, warm hand in mine.
“It’ll be our little secret,” I said softly.
She turned and smiled gently at me. She squeezed my hand, then swung it back and forth. “Thank you.”
I let go slowly, and watched as she picked up a wet spoon and wrapped it in the towel, rubbing it dry. I walked backwards towards the doorway, watching, then I turned around and took a few more steps before stopping. I turned back to her.
“Where is he now?”
She raised her head. “My son?”
“Yes.”
She turned back to the drying. “I don’t know.”
Once again, I was surprised into silence.
“He was working in space, and disappeared, about five years ago.”
A warm pain crept over my heart as I watched her quietly go about her work. How many on board were carrying all this pain around without me having any idea? I’d considered myself Almira’s friend, yet I knew so little of her heart.
She looked up at me with a quiet smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I suppose at some point coming to work on the Surveyor was the next thing to do.”
I tried to smile at her, then turned and fled into the dim mess hall.
I wove through the tables and made my way to the farthest, darkest corner. Then I leaned against the wall, pressing my hands to the cool metal. I went limp, sliding to a seat on the floor with my back against the wall, and began to weep.
*****
I met August in the hall a few feet away from our post, a few minutes after he called me. He touched my hand, and the chill of his skin made me shiver. “Nothing yet. You going to be alright?”
I nodded, and smiled to reassure him, even though I still felt numb inside.
He smiled back. “I’ll see you in an hour,” he said, then started down the hall.
I crept along the corridor, feeling a hot, ticklish sensation in my chest as I got closer to the records room.
It took me only a moment to reach the entrance, a plain, white, open metal door at the very end of the C-Deck corridor. It was just like any other door along the hall, except that the small plaque on the wall beside it read “Records” instead of the name and rank of an officer.
I pressed my shoulder to the wall and held my ear to the edge of the doorway. A life support vent blasted cool air just above me, and the consistent puffing drowned out any other ambience at first.
Then I heard a voice. Only murmurs, low ones, unintelligible to me from where I stood.
Making sure my boots didn’t make a single tap on the hard floor, I took a step forward and carefully peered into the room.
Doctor Pearson sat at a computer in the dark, tiny space, typing on a smooth panel in front of him at a feverish pace and leaning to peer at the flat screen in front of him.
Adrenaline shot through me.
He paused to bring his wristcom to his mouth and murmur again, but the life support still drowned out his words. Slowly I gripped the edge of the doorway and steadied myself as I tip-toed into the room, hugging the shadows along the wall.
“I removed that. What about Lee? And his imprisonment?”
I sucked in a quick breath through my nose, and froze, afraid to move another centimeter.
I must have breathed louder than I thought, because his head jerked towards me, his watery blue eyes taking in my presence in a fraction of a second.
Chapter XXII
I turned back towards the door and started fumbling with my wristcom, but before I could take even one step, Doctor Pearson, with his long legs, had caught up to me and slapped a hand over my mouth. His other hand clamped around my wristcom in a vice grip, pinching my skin under the band.
I struggled, trying to scream, but only muffled grunts made it past Doctor Pearson’s fingers. I reached up with my other hand and tried to pry his hand away, but I couldn’t budge it.
My heart racing, I kicked backwards, trying to hit him in the shins, but my boot found only air. He tightened his grip on my mouth, then slammed my head against the wall.
An instinctive scream tried to break from behind his hand again, but no noise came. Instead, he slammed my head against the wall a second time.
My pulse pounded in my ears, in time to a dull throbbing pain in my temples. I squirmed, pulled, flailed my free hand, but he was too strong. Again he hit my head against the wall, making the computer lights turn into little stars in front of me.
Once more he pounded my head against the wall and the impact made the stars disappear.
*****
When I woke up, I was unsure at first whether I’d opened my eyes or not. I blinked. Nothing. Everything was total blackness.
My heartbeat jumped. Was I blind? A throbbing pain ebbed back into my right temple.
I blinked again, wincing as a cramped soreness crept over my body. I realized I was neither standing nor lying, but seemed to be propped in a semi-sitting position, an awkward one, my neck twisted a little to one side, and my legs pulled up so that my knees nearly touched my chest. There was something solid under me, something cold and smooth.
I moved my head and groaned. It was sore. Very sore.
“Doctor,” I moaned. Then I remembered my wristcom and felt eagerly for it. But my fingers met only soft skin, and I groaned again. My kidnapper had been thorough.
Where was I? My head and back were leaning against something—and something was pressing on my legs as well, keeping them folded up. I felt on both sides of me and my hand
s met metal, cold, smooth metal. I reached behind me, and in front. Metal.
I was in a metal box.
Heart pounding, I tried to stand up, but found that my legs were to stiff to move. Reaching above me, I touched metal about half a meter above my head.
He wouldn’t risk putting a second victim in a crate in the storage chamber, would he?
Unless he figured it was the last place anyone would look, since he’d already used it.
I had to warn the Captain. He was going to get in trouble; if we entered the galactic center, he’d be punished. He would probably lose his captaincy, and certainly his ship. Napoleon deserved some warning as well, since it seemed he was being used for the scientist’s own ends in a way that would—no doubt—displease him.
I had to get out.
I felt the top of the crate again, and pushed, though I knew it was useless.
Nothing. It didn’t budge.
Next, I moved slowly so that my position was adjusted to sitting on my knees. I groaned as each joint unfolded sorely and slowly, then began feeling around the walls of my prison. Nothing but smooth metal, everywhere I touched.
I’d never wondered before if the crates could be opened from the inside. But I’d never had any reason to before.
Balling my fists, I started banging on the walls of the crate. “Help!” I yelled, knowing it was hopeless. My voice reverberated strangely in the tiny space, and the banging assaulted my ears, worsening my already splitting headache. But still I banged. I had to warn the Captain in time.
“Help!” I tried again, and banged for a moment. Then I stopped and listened for any sounds, any voice, anything to give me hope that someone had heard me.
For an instant there was nothing but a steady ringing in my ears. Then, I thought I heard something.
I pressed my ear to the metal wall, and listened. Was that a banging? It sounded like it—another bang, bang, bang, in echo to mine. But this time it wasn’t me.
“Hello?” I said loudly.
The other noise stopped. I rubbed my ears and listened in vain for anything else.
“Hello?” I tried again. “Can you hear me?”
For a second there was nothing, then I heard, like a sound from the far end of a very long tunnel, an answering, “Hello?”
Firmament: Machiavellian Page 16