by CK Burch
″I need you to come to my office and speak with me in private, Captain. It's ship's business. Please.″
He wondered why she would refuse to speak over the comm, but there was probably a reason for that waiting for him in her office. This was not a personal request, although had it been, the way she'd said his name he may have just gone regardless. ″I'll be there in five minutes,″ he said. ″Markov, out.″
He thought about the fresh jumpsuit, then belayed that thought. There would be no time. He left his quarters, already punching in the frequency for Mac's comm. It would have to be a sitrep on the go.
***
CHAPTER V.
Commander Amanda Collins sat in her chair on the bridge, flicked her eyes towards Captain Udeh, whom she hated thinking of as ″captain″ but had to remind herself that it was his actual rank, just on another ship. All about her, no one moved and yet everyone moved as their hands flew over information projections, calculations, data both internally and externally. Part of her was fidgeting because the god damned Actual Captain was still en route, nowhere near his post, and the Acting Captain was still bussing the bridge, checking in on flight control, radiation detection, physics prediction, all the stations because he'd been on this ship before (or so he said), and so he was running things which made Collins feel completely unnecessary. She hated that feeling. She'd joined up with the USDSE to be a use to her planet and the military, carting research explorers all around the universe back and forth, back and forth, but still seeing the stars and the planets and satisfying that five-year-old who had looked up at the dark sky in her back yard on the Fourth of July at the moon, brighter and fuller than any of the fireworks, and had known that she was going to be an astronaut. This was a far cry, much better, but she felt completely unnecessary now that the ship had two captains. First Officer her ass.
She was also fidgeting because she'd never been on a dive before.
She leaned back in the captain's chair, facing the theater screen at the front of the bridge. Toned down for human eyes though the sight might have been, the view of the Sun was hot and angry, a wall of death and destructive luminescence. Coils of hydrogen vapor curled up and out of the chromosphere and unfurled with the grace of a dancer seducing patrons. Collins rested her chin on her fist, realized that her left leg crossed over her right was bouncing again, and she switched legs. Udeh had offered her the chair because as the first officer, she ought to be in charge and holding down the ship. He had at least given her the respect, and she was grateful for it then, but now all she could do was sit in place and damn the man for his ability to walk the bridge, back and forth, back and forth, at least doing something other than sitting and bouncing in place.
The transfer to the Icarus had come because Commander Martin Quill had taken sick leave. The poor bastard had caught a really incredible form of the flu that had been going around Lunar Outpost Twelve, orbiting the Moon, and understandably Captain Markov did not want the bring the Commander back on board. No sense in exposing the entire crew to that on the eve of a big mission. Collins had been posted on the Mercury when the call had come through, and Captain Wendy Morrison had raised her eyebrows and smiled at Collins and said, ″Do it. Don't hesitate, just do it. And be prepared for a wild ride.″
This was no wild ride. Not yet. This was the mounting tension as the rollercoaster cars slowly were pulled up the incline to the apex. This was looking down at the ground repeatedly, despite not actually wanting to, to check how far away the ground was. And with comm systems all but completely down, an Acting Captain in place, and some seriously fucking joke of a plan to capture the object floating in orbit around the sun, it was like being in the rollercoaster situation with no seatbelt and nothing to hold on to. If Captain Udeh hadn't been so reassuring about procedures, Collins would be going mad right now. Just mad with anticipation.
The hand came down on her shoulder and she jumped and immediately turned red from embarrassment. It was Udeh. He hadn't even touched her with much force and she'd jumped like a kid at a scary movie. Now she just felt stupid.
Udeh, for his part, didn't acknowledge it. Earlier he'd told her not to worry if she worried. She had smiled and told him that she was a big girl and could handle any situation. Maybe the captain had been speaking from experience.
″How are we looking, Commander?″ Udeh kept his eyes on the theater screen, intent on the angry giant.
Collins briefly gave a look around the bridge. Everyone else was so enraptured with their data readouts and calculations that no one had seen her reaction. Thank god. ″Everything is five-by-five at the moment, Captain,″ she said. Perhaps a little too curt. She was...well...annoyed. Annoyed with both captains and the dive and the way nothing was resolving itself and the scientists who were insisting on picking up a space rock. Maybe she was a little bit more than annoyed and it was coming out in the way she was talking to Udeh. She'd been in tight situations before, and the best description of her attitude in those situations was the term ″cold bitch.″ Professional, she would have called it, but in this situation maybe she was coming off as frigid. But what the hell did they expect of her? Keeping it together meant sticking to protocols. And all the protocol on the ship had been shot to hell already.
The sound of the bridge door opening was a relief, a flood of anxiety washing away and flushing her system with succor. Thank god and the stars the fucking captain was here to take over and guide this damn boat. But then she swiveled the chair to look, and when she saw Sergeant Laguardia her whole body went cold again. This bitch. This tough as nails butch bitch who had the whole ship under her watchful gaze. Collins had hated her fucking attitude from the moment she'd met the staff sergeant, the so-called ″head of security″ when there was no security detail on the ship. Sure, plenty of standard issue weapons aboard as on any decent military vessel, sciences be damned, but this cockish, rod-up-her-ass bitch had the nerve to parade around with her nose in the air (she had to, Laguardia was the shortest member of the crew) inspecting anything and everything that could crack under the slightest bit of pressure. And, oh sweet Jesus, now she had a pistol strapped to her goddamn magbelt. On the bridge. Collins raised an eyebrow and wondered what the goddamn hell she had signed herself up for.
Udeh turned at the same time, and the look on his face was not pleasant. Collins looked up, wondered what Udeh was thinking, and then the captain said, ″Sergeant, get that goddamn weapon off the bridge right now.″
Everyone stopped. Collins felt the inertia slap hard downward on every member of the bridgecrew, if only for the slightest instant, and everyone literally stopped what they were doing. Collins had a smile almost appear on her mouth, but she tucked it away quickly because she didn't want to add fuel to the flames. No one spoke to Laguardia like that. Maybe Markov might if he was pushed to it, but Collins had been on Icarus for three weeks now and she knew that no one spoke to Laguardia like that. It was always the other way around.
Laguardia gave no outward reaction. Her hands clasped behind her back, the neutrality of her facial expression seeming to suggest a succinct analyzation of the moment, she said, ″With all due respect Captain, I will remove my weapon when the ship's captain gives me the direct order to do so. Until then, as head of security, my detail states my right to carry as I see fit.″
Tension rose. This wasn't going to be good. Not with everything else going on. Collins immediately saw that. The tension just in the vicinity of Udeh, him being so close, was like a brick wall. She heard his knuckles pop as he clenched his fist, and for a moment thought he touched his pocket. Then, Udeh said, ″As you were.″ He turned back to the theater screen. Thank god.
Behind them, Collins heard Laguardia slowly, deliberately strolling the length of the bridge, walking along each row of bridgecrew stations as they went about calculations for dive. Udeh kept his hands behind his back and Collins crossed her legs again. She looked up at the Captain, and said in a low voice, ″When did you say Captain Markov was due to the bridge?"
Udeh shook his head. "Not soon enough.″
***
Markov stood facing Doctor Fleur, his mouth agape, and all he could think of to say was ″You're joking.″
Fleur shook her head. ″I wish I was, but considering the intensity of the situation, I'm afraid that I can't afford it. Captain Udeh is unstable and you must take any precautions necessary against it.″
Markov searched for words and found none. He sat down on the couch he'd stretched himself out on many times before, including just this morning, and tried to absorb Fleur's assessment. Okwu? Unstable? Now that, despite his earlier misgivings over their strained friendship, was something that Markov was unwilling to accept. Okwudili Udeh was a calculating man, a strong, driven man. Unstable was certainly not something that he would ever consider using in his vocabulary to describe the man. And aside from that, he didn't need this kind of report right now; after speaking to Mac on the personal comm and discovering that no, ships communications were not functional at all yet, the mounting burden of stress upon him and the crew was palpable. Markov rolled his shoulders as he thought about it, like he could feel it knotting and bulging upon his frame.
He looked up at Fleur. ″Doctor – ″
″Gordon,″ she said again.
″Rene.″ Saying her name aloud was a sweetness he almost couldn't bear. Why the fuck was all of this happening right now? Everything was crashing down it seemed, all at once, with a rapidity that he couldn't comprehend. He shook his head. He had to maintain control over himself. ″I can't fathom why you would make such a claim. I just can't. There's no time for this right now, Doctor.″
″There's no time to ignore it, either,″ she responded. ″You're familiar with his psyche profile.″
″Yes,″ he said, and he was, from both the time that Udeh served on the Icarus and from before. Udeh had a history of crippling claustrophobia which he had fought off and never looked back on. Outside of that, the man was as strong as the bulkhead of the goddamn ship. Udeh had one of the most calculating, strategic minds that Markov had ever encountered in his history with the USDSE and beyond, which had made Udeh's play for captainhood of the Icarus to be so hurtful. Udeh had known, dammit, he'd known and he'd gone after what he’d wanted, but Markov knew he couldn't focus on that right now. He needed to focus on what was good for the ship in the now and the dive and then afterwards. Afterwards there would be a lot of cleanup. Then and only then.
″He's having a break,″ Fleur insisted.
″A break of what? I would put my life in the man's hands, Doctor. My own ship, even. As I just did.″
″Was it wise?″
″Of course it was. No one on the ship is more capable.″
″You have a first officer.″
″Untested. A temporary replacement for Commander Quill. Collins is good, but this is her first dive. With Captain Udeh on board – ″
″Why did he come on board?″
″The communications blackout. Prometheus couldn't contact us.″
″And so Udeh followed procedure by embarking in the Captain's Boat and docking with Icarus during the dive countdown. That is procedure, is it not?″
Markov hesitated. No, it wasn't procedure. It was quite the opposite. In fact, it had been damned dangerous. Udeh had come in following Icarus's wake to ensure his Boat took no damage, yes, but it had been a far cry from SOP. ″No,″ he admitted. ″Our communications are down. He took the necessary steps to contact Icarus to ensure our safety, and then he reported back to Prometheus. I would have done the same in his situation.″
″Would you?″
No. ″Yes.″
Fleur was unconvinced. Her mouth was a thin line and her eyes searched his face for the truth which he knew he was hiding. Of course he wouldn't have done the same thing. It was stupid to leave the ship in command of the first officer in such a harried situation. Then again, Udeh had made the call and had ended up being right about it: that Markov would know to let the shuttle aboard because it was the Captain's Boat, not just some stray craft gone awry. He and Udeh had always differed on procedure and methodology. So, then; maybe Udeh was right once again. But Markov wouldn't have made the same choice and he knew it.
″Doctor,″ Markov said, ″I understand that you're concerned about the stress of the current mission taking its toll on the crew. So am I. I don't believe that Captain Udeh is unstable in any way, shape, or form, and just because the man has a history of mental illness, that illness is one he fought against and defeated. He's a good man, and a strong-willed man at that.″
″Which is the kind of man you would do well to watch out for when you least expect things to go wrong,″ Fleur insisted. ″Captain – Gordon – please just hear me out. He's agitated. I fear that something may go incredibly wrong. The men on the ship have been experiencing strange symptoms – ″
″I read Doctor Gaines's report.″
″ – and your security officer, Laguardia, may not be helping the situation.″
″First Udeh, now Laguardia? Doctor, please.″
″That isn't what I mean. You know that Laguardia's methods can be trying even at the best of times. Her intentions are good, her procedure tried and true. But sound? With Udeh's condition, the situation itself, and the stress of all that's happening, perhaps she might not be best to have around. Or perhaps she might be requested to not walk the decks like a privateer, armed and ready for disagreements.″
″You know I trust your judgment, but I can't begin questioning loyalties with forty-five minutes to dive, especially since I should be on the bridge myself. At this point, they should be questioning me. Aren't I the one who took bed rest, and, god help me, a shot of alcohol? I appreciate your diagnosis, Doctor. I'll take it under consideration. But for now – ″
He started to lift off the couch but her hand found his arm. It was cool to the touch, even through his sleeve, and he stopped. She knelt in front of him until they were eye level and she said, ″Gordon. Just be careful. And watchful. I was there when Udeh tried to commandeer your ship.″
Markov flushed red. ″That wasn't what happened.″
″You know it is,″ she said. ″Right from beneath your notice. I'm saying this as a trained professional. It's my job to look for these things. I find it very hard to believe that Captain Udeh came aboard this ship without some sort of ulterior motive. He was in the right place at the right time to slide right in to a position of power which he may find reason to grab at once again if you falter. There was a crisis. He didn't think you couldn't handle it on your own. He came to help.″
″I don't believe that's true.″
She stared him down.
Because deep down, he knew it felt true.
I'll have you declared unfit for duty.
No. This was wrong.
She leaned in closer and he smelled her skin; rosewater. ″Just be vigilant, Gordon. Please. I hope that I'm wrong. I want to be wrong. But I don't think that I am.″
They held their gaze, and he could see that, if nothing else, she truly did believe that Okwudili Udeh was a threat to the bindings that held Icarus together. Was it true? Could it be? Markov had known the man for a long time. He'd known Fleur even longer.
In his mind, he allowed himself to try her name again.
Rene.
Her crystalline blue eyes did not waver.
He placed his hand over hers. ″I promise,″ he said, ″that I will keep my eye on him. And that if you're wrong, I won't say I told you so.″
She smiled. ″If I am wrong, and there's nothing wrong, you have my permission to tell me you told me so as much as you'd like.″
″I'm the captain. I don't actually need your permission.″
″There are certain things that you do need my permission for.″ She licked her lips, quickly, a flick of the tongue and then no more, and her eyes did waver, an instant of downward motion and then back up. Markov was taken aback.
Chirrup. His comm.
He thought of ign
oring it, but knew he couldn't. He removed it from his magbelt. ″Markov.″
″Udeh.″
Speak of the devil. ″Go ahead.″
″I'm not trying to rush you by any means, Captain, but we've got some...interesting readings out in our dive path. In regards to the artifact. There's a couple of scientists on the bridge who are looking for your attention.″
Markov had an idea of just who it was who wanted the attention. ″On my way. Markov, out.″ To Fleur, he said, ″I'd like to get permission from you after this mission is done, Doctor. My final set of orders before I'm done.″
She smiled. ″I have some shore leave that I should take.″
Markov chuckled. He shook his head. ″This is a little out of the blue, you know. Especially after that last conversation.″
″I know. I'm sorry. It just...″
″Freudian slip?″
She frowned. ″I hate that term.″
″Well.″ He smiled. It felt good. ″I should go.″
″Go,″ she said, rising with him as he stood. ″Remember: according to Udeh's psyche evaluation, he carries his medication with him at all times, just in case. He pats the pocket he keeps it in.″
″I've read his profile. And he's told me that himself. He's my friend. He trusts me.″ Does he?
″I hope so.″ She squeezed his hand once more. ″Keep the ship together.″
He fought the insane urge to kiss her cheek, and instead nodded curtly and left her office, striding down the length of the hallway as quickly as his fluttery knees would take him, alternating between paranoia-stroked adrenaline and the lust of tenderness. This was new; no, it was old, old and ripe and had been trembling with the onset of blossoming for a long time, yet now was the wrong time. The wrong time indeed.
***
Mac had had an idea and he wasn't about to let it go.
He strode quickly through the science deck, where the regular complement of ship's researchers would line their monitors and receivers and pull data from Icarus's solar dives, and where Doctor Catherine Tybalt ought to be, except that she wasn't. She was off in doo-dah land, fucking around with preparations with the cargo bay. Fucking scientists. Mac loved and hated them simul-fuckin-taneously. There was that aspect of research and collection that he found intriguing, of combining it with production to create. It was like being an engineer: defining how things work, and how to make them work better. But science and engineering split ways at the relative issue of sanity and safety. He couldn't imagine a single engineer stupid enough to attempt pulling in a bit of debris like this artifact during a fucking dive, hoping to god and everything else that the radiation scrubbers would work against almost direct exposure to beyond measurable levels of thermal radiation. He shook his head as he walked, passing by multiple white jumpsuits that turned in his direction to note the passing of his own brown colored work uniform. He was sweating and grimy; he hadn't had a shower since two days before. The ultra-sanitation of the science deck reminded him of medical. Also not unlike engineering. In fact, moreso: examining the human body to see what made it work and to keep it working. Engineers kept things working. Sometimes they had to take things apart, too, but so did surgeons. And they always put it back together. Scientists...fucking scientists.