Carrier

by Timothy Johnson

  Stellan simply stared at her because the truth was he didn't know what his purpose was anymore. Was it atonement? Did he feel compelled to save Edward to make amends with fate by saving as many as he had taken? He didn't believe there was a cosmic balance, so he considered it odd as well. Truthfully, he didn't know why he had risked his life. He just did. A mechanism inside of him had been in control, and he'd done it out of reflex.

  "Well, I can give you one," Adelynn said. She sauntered toward him and ran a finger over his stubbly cheek. She grasped his shoulder and leaned into his chest.

  "Indeed," she whispered, and Stellan pushed her to the floor.

  She looked up and smiled through a waterfall of golden hair. "I like this side of you," she said with a playful laugh, brushing her hair back.

  "What do you want?"

  "That's a very good question," she said, standing. "I realized we've been on this ship for weeks, and I know nothing about it or its people."

  That’s a lie, Stellan thought. He was sure she knew everything about him and everyone else.

  "I was hoping you might be able to show me around."

  "A tour," Stellan said. "Now?"

  "Yes."

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "Not really," Adelynn said, maintaining that smile like nothing mattered because she was unreachable. "First, though, do you mind?" She motioned toward the firing range, and Stellan stepped aside with bewildered eyes.

  "A gentleman, too!" she said.

  Adelynn stepped up to the bench with the five targets marching toward her. She drew her weapon with no pause or hesitation, only taking a split second to find her target. Her sidearm was black and sleek with a uniform quality to its chassis that did not reveal its parts. It was not a model with which Stellan was familiar. The built-in suppressor limited the muzzle flash, and though it was smaller than Stellan's, it did not lack stopping power. Stellan appreciated that the rail system must have featured state-of-the-art amplifiers. The weapon must also have had sliding stabilizer systems that countered the hefty kick because Skinner's elbows only bent slightly from the recoil even though the blasts thumped in his chest.

  He hated admitting that watching her fire her weapon was beautiful in a way only another killer could appreciate.

  She quickly dispatched the five targets, and when the system replaced them, she sent rounds through those, too. She took a third set with her final rounds, and when they were spent, she removed the empty magazine, replaced it with another from her belt, and then returned her sidearm to its home on her hip.

  "Okay if I refill this one on the way out?" she asked, waving her empty magazine, and walked away without waiting for an answer.

  As they left the firing range, the display at the end of the lane blinked 100 percent. Stellan didn't think Agent Adelynn Skinner had even bothered to look.

  Four

  Outside the security deck, the halls were still quiet enough that, when Stellan encountered other crewmembers, he could hear their whispers. Stellan and Adelynn were entwined as opposites. While it wasn't out of the ordinary to mention both in the same breath, talk was one thing; seeing them together started people talking. Stellan ignored it because it was beyond his control.

  "The layout of the Atlas is pretty simple," he said. "This corridor runs the length of the ship parallel to the tram line, which runs straight up the middle, from engineering at the rear to the residence decks at the fore. Some say it's the backbone of the ship. From each tram station, corridors lead perpendicularly into the various decks."

  "Sort of like a rib cage," she said.

  "Yes." Impatience threatened to overcome him, but he was not impolite. Stellan knew she was merely humoring him, watching him dance like a marionette as she probably laughed under her breath, smiling and sneaking snickers when his gaze turned elsewhere.

  "It must be simple, but how do you orient yourself?" she asked. "How do you know which direction is the front and which is the back?"

  "You don't. It's a feeling. Sort of like sea legs. Walking toward the back just feels easier. And, if you wore a link," he tapped his wrist, "it would tell you where you were at all times." It also would tell him where she was at all times.

  "I can manage."

  They came to the main thoroughfare of the ship, a clearing in their path where eight corridors intersected. Brilliantly lit, the ceiling of the circular room arched into a dome. With all the halls pouring into the one intersection, the crowd was thick and challenging to navigate even though it wasn't yet time for the shifts to change. Stellan felt a brief reprieve from the judgment of his crewmates, as it was just too busy for anyone to notice anyone else. All you could see was the crowd, a sea of people.

  "I'm sure you're familiar with this area," Stellan said. "We call it 'Gamble's Run.'"

  "What's the significance of the name?"

  "I don't really know. It's as old as the ship as far as I can tell. There are a few stories. The one I like best is a guy owed some gambling debts and was chased through here. Now, remember, we're on a ship in space. Nowhere to go, right? Apparently, it was during one of the shift changes, and he lost his pursuers here, taking off down one corridor while they chased down another."

  "Why do you like that one?"

  "Because it reminds me not to get overconfident. The guy got away, and they couldn't find him before they docked at Earth. He disappeared. It's easy to get complacent here and think the hull is the border no one can cross, that if someone gets away from you, it's okay because you're bound to run into him sooner or later. Fact is, I've been here ten years, and I think there are still parts of the ship I've never seen. Plenty of places to hide."

  "Can't you track people by their links?"

  "Yes," Stellan said. "If they wear them, and if they're on. When people are on the run, though, they tend to get rid of them."

  "So someone could disappear here."

  "Yes."

  "That's good to know."

  "Why is that?"

  Adelynn didn't answer. She impressed Stellan because, even though he didn't trust her, she projected genuine interest in what he had to say. He could see it in the way she turned her head toward him, tilted slightly sideways as if considering his words. Her eyes focused on him and not the crowd, something he was incapable of doing even when he was interested in what someone was saying. Being mindful of his environment was ingrained in his behavior too deeply to tune out the crew. He watched them even as he tried to direct his attention to Adelynn, and he wondered if she willingly lowered her guard to them to feign interest in him or if she was just so good she could maintain focus on everyone and make him think he had her full attention. With so many people crashing into each other, he didn't think it was likely. Still, he wondered, and he begged to know the answer because she most certainly was sizing him up. His mind struggled to keep track of it all, to run continually through possible scenarios for danger. He felt jealous that she made it seem so easy.

  "Down that way is the medical deck," Stellan said.

  "Maybe we ought to check in on Daelen," Adelynn suggested with an eerie, almost threatening smile. It angered him, but of all things, she wouldn't touch Daelen. Not while he was still alive.

  "Down that hall is the main group of lifts that go to the command deck or down to the cargo bays."

  He continued on, ignoring her proposal.

  "We're walking toward the rear, aren't we?"

  "Yes."

  "I think I feel it. What you mean. It's almost like I could lean forward, and something would carry me."

  They passed another pair of crewmembers, a man and woman, who didn't notice the agent and the chief of security walking together at first. When they saw Stellan and Adelynn, however, an unmistakable look of disgust crossed the woman's face.

  "That doesn't bother you?" Adelynn asked.

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's not me they whisper about. Does it bother you?"

  "No," Adelynn said solemnly, l
ike she regretted the thought but accepted it all the same. "I know what I am."

  She looked at him, and Stellan thought she was searching for approval. He considered that the reason for the tour was so she could spend some time with him and, perhaps, gain his trust, something he would never give to her. It wasn't a matter of emotion or logic. It was just something he'd never be capable of doing. If she knew anything about him, she should have known her attempt would never pay off, though he thought it unlikely that she'd misjudged his tenacity. So, like everything she did, Stellan tried to assess the subtext of her actions, what she was trying to accomplish with her uncharacteristic pleasantries.

  "So do I," Stellan said.

  Five

  Ensign Cooper Evans couldn't sleep. It had been hours, lying in his bed, since his sleep cycle began, and the images poured through his mind in a continuous stream. He replayed the security footage that the Council agent reviewed on the bridge. He recalled the look on her face as she watched Daelen break down. She was pleased.

  And Cooper was afraid.

  He was afraid of her, the secretive agent who dressed in all black like a shadow, as he would be afraid of any agent. Cooper was just a boy, and he knew it. He was old enough and smart enough to fly on the Atlas, but he'd led a privileged life. He knew people saw things that changed and strengthened them, and he had not seen anything like that. He feared it. It was a natural aversion to anything that might taint his innocence, a paranoia that had grown into a fear of reality.

  What he saw on the agent's face was painful to him. She feared nothing, and he feared everything. That strength was oddly alluring, as was the way her uniform hugged her hips and breasts and the way she swayed when she walked, but he knew straight down to his bones just how untouchable she was.

  For her, maybe she had gone so far beyond fear, knowing nothing could touch her, that she found pleasure in the fear of others. It wouldn't have surprised him. Of the stories he'd heard, these agents had the freedom to do what they wanted. They carried the will of the Council, and they were given free reign over the people of New Earth, so they could do the dirty work the Council could not be associated with. They were above the law in such a way that the Council looked the other way when a necessary evil needed to be done. That was why her presence on the Atlas put so many on edge.

  What necessary evil needed to be done, and why couldn't the Council be connected to it?

  The fear was not the only reason he couldn't sleep. Fear was something he'd lived with. Since childhood, he slept with it every night as his only companion in the darkness, carrying with him thoughts that gangly tentacles could reach out from under his bed.

  He was awake because he needed to tell someone. He needed to tell Stellan what he'd seen, and he imagined the Council agent had counted on him staying silent because he was timid. She wielded fear like a silent sword that she swung playfully in the air, taunting those she passed with a reminder that they were beneath her.

  In the darkness of his cabin, Cooper gazed at his door to the hallway and hoped Stellan would walk through it, but even then, what if the agent was watching him? What if she would know he told Stellan that the agent had appeared to enjoy seeing his wife in pain, that it made him wonder if she might kill Stellan just to watch Daelen collapse? If she were so ready to deal death and pain, retribution would be a nice side dish for her, and no one would be able to touch her. She could push Cooper out an airlock, and not only would it be hours before anyone noticed, she could walk into the Captain's quarters and declare it herself, laughing, and the Captain could do nothing.

  It was out of his control. Better to stay quiet and hope for the best. He shut his eyes as hard as he could and prayed she couldn't read thoughts.

  "Just go to sleep, stupid," he said.

  Exhausted from fighting with himself, he eventually slipped into unconsciousness, and his last dwindling thought as his mind's grasp on reality slipped was everything was all right, a feeling of falling into his mother's arms as her lips hushed his whimpers.

  Of course, that was just a dream.

  Six

  Arlo should have been sleeping. Soon, the Atlas would reach the Shiva, and every person on the ship would depend on him to guide the carrier in and ensure a successful lock with the excavator. It was something he'd done hundreds of times, thousands if you counted simulations, but experience had not made it any easier or less risky. Neither did it ease his apprehension, but of course, that wasn't something to which Arlo would have ever admitted.

  He found himself surrounded by beds but not the kind in which people made homes. They weren't beds built for comfort or to share with a spouse or significant other. These beds were more functional and meant for the sick, injured, and recovering. Somewhere around here were the beds for the dead. The medical deck on the Atlas even had a morgue.

  Walking the hall between private rooms, his fingers tingled with an excited nervousness that he had to squeeze out. The hallway narrowed and elongated, and the space between doors expanded. They became exit ramps on a highway, each one a marker to his destination, each one a chance to turn around. He tried not to look at them because he wanted to be there, but fear tried to pull him away.

  A door opened at the end of the hall, and Rick Fairchild stepped through, walking toward Arlo with his eyes cast toward the floor. When Arlo's boots came into view, Rick looked up, startled.

  "Jesus," Rick said. "Son, you look like shit. Aren't you off cycle?"

  "Yeah. I'm fine. How's my dad?"

  "He's still out. You know, you don't have to be here. Good people are taking care of him. He's going to be okay."

  "I know," Arlo said. Rick took hold of Arlo's shoulder and looked him hard in the eyes.

  "You should go get some rest."

  Arlo couldn't sleep. Pierce's words rattled in his brain like a rock in a can, and the reality of what had happened was just beginning to sink in. The deepest wounds took the longest to feel.

  "Thanks," Arlo said. "But I need to see him. I just need to be here. I can't let him be alone. I realize it's more for me at this point."

  Rick nodded, squinting, trying to read how Arlo really felt, and then he walked away, rubbing his eyes and yawning so wide his jaw locked.

  Arlo could empathize with the pressure Rick was under, but the difference was Arlo's job essentially came down to a single event at the end of each run. Rick held the Atlas together every day, and if he let up, over time, the whole thing could fall apart. And over time, the Atlas had become harder to hold together.

  Arlo continued to the door. He craned his head to look through the porthole window. The room inside was dark with a large silver bullet in the center: his father's hyperbaric chamber. Wendy stood silent, watching over Edward, and Arlo appreciated the company for his father but was embarrassed to confront her in such a sensitive place. Across the room, Doug Fowler slouched in a chair that looked to be made for children in comparison to his large size.

  He opened the door, and Wendy hurriedly wiped tears from her eyes. Arlo entered the room and respectfully closed the door. He crossed the darkness, removing his cap and fumbling with it nervously, and it wasn't until he entered the spotlighting in the center of the room, which overlooked his father's chamber, that he spoke.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Hey," she returned, glaring at Doug. Though it took a moment, the big man got the hint. He stood and walked out of the room, absently leaving the door wide open.

  "Captain wanted someone to keep an eye on things," Wendy said. "It's for your Dad's safety."

  "As much as anyone else's," Arlo said, missing Wendy cringe.

  "How are you holding up?" she asked.

  "I'm okay."

  "Of course you are," Wendy said with sarcasm, which Arlo spoke as a second language.

  "Why does everyone want me to pour my heart out?" he said. "People grieve. It happens."

  "We're a family. We try to look out for each other. Everyone's just concerned and maybe a little freaked
out because we didn't know how you'd react."

  "I'm like everyone else," Arlo said.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Not really."

  Arlo couldn't take his eyes off his father's chamber. He could feel Wendy searching him; he could feel her disdain. He could feel himself pushing her away.

  "Listen, if you do need to talk," she said, "I can be a pretty good listener. Ignore anything Stellan says to the contrary. My listening abilities are somewhat selective."

  "I appreciate it," Arlo said with a smile. "Really, though, I'm fine."

  "Okay. I'll leave you two alone." She walked toward the door with a few sniffles, again wiping her face.

  "Thanks," Arlo said. "It's good to know my dad has such good friends."

  "We try to look out for each other," Wendy repeated. "I'm sorry we didn't see it coming."

  "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault."

  She nodded solemnly and left the room, taking with her the last distraction he had from his father.

  Arlo thought it was odd how the most powerful conclusions were the ones to which you arrived on your own, as if no one could tell you or show you the way. You had to find it yourself, and you might as well have been fumbling in the dark. Finding it struck a match, and you could finally see. You could finally read the writing on the wall, and somehow, it was in your language.

  He realized guilt weighed heavily on good people when their loved ones came to harm. It was just a natural reaction. In some sense, he bore the responsibility for what happened to his father, but he realized he wasn't alone in that. His misery didn't want company, but it didn't hurt to have it.

  At that thought, Arlo wondered if his father would want him to be there. Arlo imagined, if his father were conscious, he would send his son away, and Arlo knew his father would because Arlo would. They both wanted to be alone in their sorrow.

  People like them pushed love and compassion away when they needed it most, and the tragedy was it was pretty common. It was scary to open up. Most people just wanted to cover their vulnerabilities, and it took exceptional friends and family to hold on and stay.