Stellan wondered what Rick would do if he were given the choice. If Rick had survived, would he go back?
It was silly to think about because Rick hadn't survived. He was already gone, so Stellan stepped forward, unholstered his sidearm, and fired before he or anyone else could dwell on it any longer.
There was nothing else they could do for him. It was necessary.
Peace was the only thing Rick had ever wanted. He deserved it more than most. Stellan used his gift to grant mercy to another soul.
"Rest easy, my friend," he said. Out of respect, no one looked at Rick's body. They chose to remember him as he was before the alien organism had killed him, a modest and wise man who led without even knowing it.
Stellan heard that sobbing again. In the corner, Wendy's weeping erupted into howling as she sat on a countertop, curled into a ball. She had turned away and couldn't watch Stellan, her best friend, end the life of a man she had considered a second father.
He went to her, and the stunned group watched because they could do nothing else. Stellan embraced her, and when he touched her, she cried out in a pain he recognized as only coming from emotional loss. Some part inside of her had died. She cried so deeply and for such a time that Stellan worried she would never stop, but he would hold her until she did. He would not let her go until he knew she was ready.
After a few moments, a hand pressed his shoulder.
"It's time to go," Pierce said.
Stellan nodded but didn't leave until Wendy fell into silence and sleep, and then he carried her into a recovery room where he hoped she would be safe from the inescapable monster that hunted them throughout every deck on that carrier ship, the horrible thing that penetrated bulkhead walls and hatch doors through which even the black could not pass.
He wanted to hide her from their enduring sadness.
Chapter 10: Edward's Worth
One
When checking ocular motor function, Daelen was supposed to verify that both pupils were equal in size. She was supposed to ensure they reacted by constricting when she shined light into them. Abnormalities could indicate a patient was under the influence of alcohol or drugs. They could indicate eye diseases. They could indicate stroke or brain injury or tumors.
That was what the books told her.
When Daelen looked into Edward's eyes, however, she looked for something else. Maybe she hoped to find someone she could trust, as she could no longer offer much in the way of dependable care. Perhaps desperation drove her to look for the metaphysical, but she couldn't care for a patient if they were to be on the move. They all needed someone they knew they could count on. They all needed to be able to lean on each other. The black madness hadn't just taken Edward's sanity. It took his dependability, and now, he was a liability, creating a strain on the group.
Pierce had asked Daelen to examine Edward, and she wondered what the captain would do if she declared Edward incompetent.
Looking into the black of Edward's eyes, she felt no fear, and it wasn't because Stellan stood watch in the same room. Something had changed within Edward, and she'd recognized it even as he'd held her to the deck with his hands wrapped around her throat. It was clear something inside of him had broken. Like a dam, the waters burst forth, creating a time of turmoil. Eventually they settled, leaving a changed landscape. The important part was the waters were still.
"You say you've been feeling well, yeah?" Daelen asked.
"Better than I have in a long time," Edward said. Edward's eyes drifted down to the bruises that lingered on her neck. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't mean to make it sound like I'm making excuses, but that wasn't me. It was somebody else."
She looked to him doubtfully and held her palm over his chest while her link unfolded several windows and took his blood pressure, heart rate, respiration rate, and core body temperature.
"How have your tremors been?" Daelen asked. "Headaches? Blurry vision? Fatigue? Memory lapses?"
"No, no," Edward said. "None of that. Clear as day."
Daelen held up her palms. "Push against my hands."
He reluctantly pressed his palms against hers, and Stellan eyed him carefully. He pushed until she pushed back and understood he was not to push any more even though he felt the strength to do so.
"Good," she said. "Now interlock your fingers with mine and pull." Edward again followed orders and pulled until she resisted.
"Good," she said, releasing his hands. "Now stand up straight and close your eyes." Edward did as he was told, and her hands grasped his shoulders, pushing him sideways, testing his balance.
"Stand on one foot." Edward complied and felt his body's desire to topple but only because of age and his round belly, not due to nervous system defect.
"Put your foot down."
His motor functions were fine, but she felt like she needed confirmation of what she already knew. For the time being, Edward's madness had vanished as suddenly as it had come. It might return. Until they got him back to New Earth and did more tests, they would know nothing with certainty. But by her assessment, he could move on his own.
She looked deep into his eyes then and saw a confidence in him that she had not seen since he first came onto the ship. Since then, he'd been riddled with grief over the loss of his wife, Arlo's mother. Daelen looked deep into the black of his eyes, and instead of the nothingness that had prevailed when his fingers clenched her throat, she found a new man, one still grief stricken, yes, but compassionate nonetheless. The redness from the burst blood vessels had subsided as well, and the swelling of his tissue had all but vanished. Outward appearances told her he was healing well.
"If I could, I would take it back," Edward said. "If I could give my life to make it right, I would."
It wasn't until then that Daelen realized she had not allowed herself enough time to grieve. It wasn't until the tears flooded her eyes and she looked at Edward unashamed and unwilling to let those tears flow that she remembered she still had some healing of her own to do. She wondered about her own liability. If someone leaned on her, would she be able to hold him or her up?
"Thank you," Daelen said because she didn't know what else to say, and maybe she said it because it was something Edward needed to hear. He smiled a small, genuine smile, the kind of happiness that bleeds through grief and sadness during hard times when such emotions are inappropriate.
"Are you finished?" Stellan asked.
Daelen nodded.
"Let's go." Stellan grasped Edward's shoulder with cold, powerful strength. He pulled Edward off the examination table and ushered him into the common room as if he were still a prisoner. Stellan didn't yet understand that, now, they all were, and it was time to let Edward go.
Two
In the common room, Pierce, Arlo, Margo, and Floyd huddled together, whispering conspiratorially. When Stellan and Edward approached, they hushed and looked guilty.
Stellan pushed Edward into their company and continued to the door, stopping only to retrieve his rifle, which lay on the thin padding of an exam table.
"Where do you think you're going?" Pierce asked.
"To your cabin," Stellan said. "To get that brick."
Pierce's eyes narrowed, and Stellan thought he saw a glimmer of panic.
"It isn't worth the risk. It's a waste of time. You have to know that."
"Maybe," Stellan said. "But we have to try if it could mean we fix this."
Stellan checked the straps of his belt. His sidearm hung securely to his upper thigh. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and counted the spare magazines in his pockets, then counted the four magazines for his rifle and calculated that he had one hundred and twenty-eight rounds. He also carried four magazines for his sidearm, which meant he had fifty-two rounds, minus the one he used for Rick. It was probably more than enough ammunition. Firing even one round would likely draw the attention of others, and by himself, he could only put so many down. If his dreams had taught him anything, he had learned that much.
"We don't even know if Daelen can cure it," Pierce said.
Daelen came out of the private exam room. She looked to Stellan doubtfully, acknowledging the uncertainty of it. The lack of confidence in herself bothered Stellan because he believed, if anyone could save them, it was her, and he predicated the risk he was about to take on that faith. Stellan walked over to her and gently touched her elbow. He looked long and hard into her eyes.
"Should I do this? If I get that brick, is there a chance?"
Daelen considered it for a moment and then, with a deep breath, nodded. "If I know what it is, there's a chance I could even have something here to treat it."
"That's good enough," Stellan said, and he leaned in and kissed her.
"Stellan," Pierce said with a frustrated huff. "I'm ordering you."
Stellan looked over his shoulder and sneered when he found the dark eye of Pierce's sidearm staring him in the face.
"What makes you think I give a shit about orders anymore?" Stellan said. "Put your weapon down. You may be a murderer, but you won't shoot me. Not when you need me."
"That's right," Pierce said. "We need you."
"Give me thirty minutes."
"Those people out there don't have any more time."
"Exactly," Stellan said. "Those who are infected, the ones we can still save, they're running out of time."
"I'm still the captain of this ship goddammit!"
"What ship!?" Stellan said. "A ship needs people to run it, and if we're all that's left, this isn't a ship. It's a tomb. There are people out there who are sick and dying, but they're not dead yet. They deserve a chance. Save as many as we can. That's what you said, and that's what I'm doing. If we don't owe it to them, we at least owe it to ourselves."
Stellan waited for a response; Pierce had none. As he turned his back on Pierce's weapon and headed toward the door, a part of him feared Pierce would respond with a gunshot.
"So be it," Pierce said, lowering his sidearm. "I hope you find what you're looking for, but I won't let you risk the lives of anyone else. If you go, you're going alone."
It was just as well. He would be better off alone. He could move faster and quieter, and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone else. He knew, with the potential force they faced, it didn't matter how many guns they had. Stealth would have to be his weapon.
"Wait," Edward said. "I'll go."
Stellan stopped and closed his eyes. Though the nobility of the offer touched him, Edward was the last of them he wanted along. Stellan turned with a smile.
"I appreciate that, but I'll be okay. You should stay here where Daelen and the others can look after you."
"I know you don't think I'm well, but I don't want to continue to be a burden," he said. "I feel fine. I feel better than I have in a long time actually. I can help. I know it."
"Dad," Arlo begged.
"No, son," Edward said. "I have to do this, too. I have my reasons."
Stellan looked to Daelen for approval, which she would not offer. She could only return an anxious stare and await his decision.
Against his better judgment, Stellan nodded, and Edward marched forward eagerly despite Pierce's protests.
Edward handled his weapon clumsily, and Stellan watched, fearful that he would drop it.
Three
Stellan couldn't stop watching Edward. Nervous Edward. Despite the progress he'd made, the bruises were still visible, and some of the swelling remained. In places, his skin was a deep purple or light gray. It made him look like one of the dead. At first glance, Stellan nearly turned his gun on him.
Part of him wanted to. They were alone now. He could claim the madmen got him, that there was nothing he could have done.
However, Stellan himself would know what he did. He felt dirty just for having those thoughts.
Yet, if Daelen had died, he didn't know that he would have been so forgiving, but Edward was with him now. They used to call escort missions "babysitting." Both Edward and Stellan would have agreed, however, that it was more of a test to see if Edward was worthy of Stellan's risk when he leaped out of an airlock and brought Edward back from oblivion.
They moved stealthily down the silent halls. They had to be quiet because it was true the madmen and the dead were grouping together. They would not dare discharge their weapons unless they were certain it would not attract more attention than they could handle or if they had no other choice.
Stellan didn't have much to say to Edward anyway. As long as Edward didn't get him killed, he would be fine, and Stellan thought that went without saying.
The way Edward moved irritated Stellan. He held his weapon as if it were a snake, his feet fell heavy and flat, and his breathing was loud and unsteady.
"Quiet," Stellan whispered.
"I'm sorry!"
Edward was trying, but trying only counted in training. In combat, they could only accept doing. Stellan pulled Edward into a dark room where the eyes of the mad or dead might not be able to see. He cleared the room and closed the door.
"You're making too much noise," Stellan said. "If you're going to be with me, you can't be a liability."
Edward hung his head in disappointment. Stellan could see his good intentions. Unfortunately, the madmen wouldn't care about Edward's good intentions. They would chew right through them.
"I'm sorry, Chief. I'm trying."
"Bend your knees," Stellan said.
"What?"
"You're walking heavy," Stellan said. "Bend your knees when we move, and make sure your feet land heel to toe. Keep your body steady like you're gliding."
Edward did as he was told, testing the bounce of his legs.
"Hold your weapon like you mean it."
"I'm sorry. I've never used a gun before."
"It's not a gun. It's never a gun. It's a weapon," Stellan said. "Hold your weapon with both hands. One is its foundation that it rests on. The other is the wall it leans against."
Edward raised his sidearm and pointed it at the wall. Stellan adjusted Edward's body to show him the correct stance and posture. Edward closed one eye to aim down the sights of the pistol and curled his tongue out over his lip.
"Don't do that," Stellan said. "Use both eyes. If you have to close one eye to aim, you're trying to shoot something that's too far away. You need both eyes open, especially here. Use your peripheral vision. Watch your corners."
Edward nodded, perfectly attentive. Stellan thought he was actually learning.
"Keep an eye on me," Stellan said. "I'm on point. When I move, you move, not the other way around. Point your weapon at things I don't point mine at. Cover corners I'm not covering. Watch doorways I'm not watching."
Edward absently held his sidearm up and to the side. Stellan pushed it down gently.
"When you're not pointing your weapon at something you want to kill, point it at the deck."
He grabbed Edward's other hand and pulled it under his other to support the weapon. When Stellan let go, Edward let his sidearm fall too low.
"But not so you'll shoot yourself in the foot," Stellan said. "This is your best friend. Get close to it, but never get complacent. It'll hurt you if you let it."
Stellan took a moment to stare into Edward's eyes, to hopefully allow his crash course in soldiering to sink in. It reminded him of looking into Rick's eyes, not because of any resemblance but because of the differences. Rick's eyes used to burn with a light. Stellan could always tell Rick was trying to figure something out. His brain was always working. The deep, defined lines on his brow were a testament to the years he'd spent inside his own head.
Edward was less of a thinker. Stellan didn't suspect Arlo's father had any mental handicaps, but he certainly was more consigned to a lower class of thought. He had always been quiet and did what he was told, never demonstrating any leadership qualities. Stellan supposed Arlo had spent at least part of his adult life trying to not be like his father. Perhaps it was why his tongue was so sharp and why he feigned such an ego.
Even so, Edward's eyes, while somewhat dull, flashed brighter than Rick's had when he lay restrained on that table. Edward's eyes engaged the world more than the man Stellan found as little more than a torso in the hallway on his way to security. And they were sharper than even Tom's eyes before Stellan had killed him in the bar.
There was something there. Edward was a human being, full of compassion, love, and understanding. Like all humans, he was capable of terrible things, but the point was that he chose not to do those things.
The madmen acted like they had no other choice. Was it free will that differentiated them? Stellan wasn't sure. In that moment, though, he was thankful for Edward. He knew he had done the right thing by saving his life, even if it cost him the life of his child.
Edward's life held value because he still had the potential to do good.
Four
Stellan had hoped Arlo had been wrong about the group of the dead he'd heard near the entryway to the central lift. Unfortunately, he was right.
When they approached the main corridor to the lift, a breathing sound arose like the swell of the light drive. Although, while the light drive's waves crashed evenly and rhythmically, this breathing sound was chaotic and punctuated with popping and clapping noises like vocal cords slamming together with unintentional, short coughs. A putrid odor wafted down the corridor, and as they drew nearer and its strength grew, Stellan identified the stench that he could never describe but, once he'd smelled it, never forget.
At its base, the miasma gagged him like rank earth filled his mouth, the insects crawling down the back of his throat. On the next level, curdled milk and vegetables rotted into gelatin gave it a wetness like an invisible fog. The top note was the sweet smell of vinegar, burning just enough to start the flow of tears.
It was the fetid smell of decomposing flesh.
Stellan stopped Edward with a raised fist, and they hugged the wall between two jutting support joists, partially concealing themselves in shadow. Edward sniffed the air and recoiled, stifling the urge to vomit by pressing his mouth and nose into the crook of his arm.
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