They were going to die, and she couldn’t do much to save them.
Old-fashioned triage. That was what she was going to have to do, and she was going to have to do it through her skills alone. And she didn’t have a lot of them.
Then something pinged, and an image of some kind of device floated out of her tablet. Damn the engineers. They were doing something to communicate with her.
The device had pink veins.
We’re looking for that inside Stephanos. Willoughby’s voice floated with the image. If it’s inside her, we have to figure out how it got there and what we can do to stop it.
Seymont sent a quick message back. Then do it yourself.
And she cut off all communications with everyone. Screw them.
She had lives to save.
And she was going to do it, no matter what anyone else wanted her to do.
The Renegat
Serpell had slipped out of the research room before she opened one of the control panels and used it to find India. To Serpell’s surprise, India was in the brig.
Serpell had to use the ship’s map to find the brig. She had never seen it before. She had figured if she was going to see it, it would have been to interpret for some prisoner they had captured at the Scrapheap. At night, when India was out doing whatever India had been doing lately, Serpell had been boning up on all the various forms of Standard that she could find, figuring that someone they found in the ancient Scrapheap might be speaking a form of Standard so old that it wouldn’t sound familiar.
But there were no outside prisoners. No one had been captured. No one had even gone to the Scrapheap yet.
And those rumors that something had happened.
Serpell was seeing no evidence of it in the corridor outside the research room, but then they were so far away from everything, that she probably wouldn’t see evidence of anything.
The trip to the brig took her to an elevator bank that she had never seen before. The elevators were wider than the others, as if they were built to accommodate a lot of people. Or maybe people in custody.
Of course, the elevator bank would be somewhere other than the regular elevators. No one wanted the prisoners to be anywhere near the crew.
Her mouth had gone dry, and she continually wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. The brig was on its own deck, which made sense. She remembered learning somewhere that the brigs in SC-Class vessels were huge, in comparison to brigs on other vessels, because SC-Class vessels specialized in security.
When the elevator opened onto the bridge floor, she was assaulted by a stench she hadn’t ever encountered before. It wasn’t quite rotted and decayed, but close, as if something had died nearby. Or gotten really really sick. Or a lot of people had gotten really really sick.
She could separate out a few smells—vomit was one—but mostly the stench was a miasma that seemed like a live thing. It made her eyes water. She put an arm over her nose, and peered around the edge of the elevator to see a corridor filled with gurneys.
Gurneys? She checked her map. The med bay was nowhere near this part of the ship. So why were gurneys here?
Her heart started pounding really hard. The system said India was here. Since she was security, she was probably shepherding the gurneys.
They were stacked one above the other, three high, and there was a gap of a yard between each one. People moaned on them, and stirred. An arm hung off of one just in front of the door—a thin arm with a bracelet that Serpell sort of recognized. She couldn’t remember whose it was right now—her brain wasn’t working that way—but it was familiar.
The stench was making her queasy. She brought up the collar of her shirt and put it over her nose and mouth, not caring that it exposed her stomach. The air down here was hot and humid. Clearly, the environmental systems weren’t working as well as they could have been.
Something had happened. Something bad.
“India?” she shouted.
“Raina?” India’s voice came from a few yards away, and sounded weak. India never sounded weak.
Serpell pushed her way past the rows of gurneys. Hands reached for her. One coated her forearm with gooey wetness. She looked down and saw what seemed to be blood.
She wiped that off on the back of her shirt.
She couldn’t see India anywhere. Then she heard her name, spoken impatiently, as only India could do.
Serpell turned, saw one of the gurneys rocking, and caught a glimpse of India as the gurney turned toward her for a half second.
Serpell backtracked, caught the bottom of the gurney, and said, “What the hell?”
India looked over at her from the center of the gurney. Straps covered her, holding down her torso, legs, and arms.
“They killed the captain,” India said, but she didn’t sound sad. She sounded angry.
“Captain Preemas?” Serpell asked.
“You know any other captain?” India snapped.
“For godssake, Romano,” said Odafe Yarleque from nearby. He was strapped to his gurney too. “You want someone to help you, you be nice to them.”
Serpell’s face heated. India’s face looked bruised. She had scorch marks on her shirt, and a gaping hole in the cloth near her hip. Her skin had turned an ash gray, and her eyes had sunken into their sockets.
“What happened to you?” Serpell asked.
“She was stupid enough to tell people to open fire in a crowded alcove,” Yarleque said.
“Shut up,” India said. “I didn’t hear you taking point. And someone had to defend the captain.”
“Who was already dead,” Yarleque said.
Serpell was trying to process everything. Captain Preemas was dead? Someone had lashed not just India but all the others to their gurneys and sent them to the brig? Because they had shot at each other?
“Get me off of this,” India said. “We have to get to the bridge.”
Then the gurneys started to move forward, all in a unit, the middle row swerving just a little to avoid hitting Serpell in the face.
“You set anyone free, and I’ll arrest you.” The voice came from the open doors to the brig.
Serpell looked toward it. DeShawn Hagen stood there, holding a laser rifle against his shoulder. His face was streaked with blood.
She usually thought of him as an elegant man. Now, he looked like a soldier of a type she usually avoided. His gaze was flat, measuring.
“What did they do?” she asked.
“They tried to kill us all,” he said, then waved his free hand. The gurneys moved again.
She realized now that the top row of gurneys were heading the other direction, going back toward the med bay. Those gurneys were empty.
“India’s injured,” Serpell said. “Let me take her to the med bay.”
“Your wife isn’t that badly injured,” Hagen said. “She’s staying here.”
India mouthed asshole but didn’t say anything, which startled Serpell. It meant that India was afraid of Hagen, afraid of what he could do.
“Please, DeShawn,” Serpell said. “I’m standing right next to her and the bandage on her hip has worked free. Let me—”
“The people in the med bay need surgery, not bandages. We’ll get the minor injuries tended to here, in the brig, after we’ve saved as many as we can in the med bay.” Hagen was curt and sharp. His gaze cut into her. “What were you doing a few hours ago?”
“Research.” Serpell’s voice came out small. “I had no idea that this was going on.”
He raised his chin slightly. Then he shook his head. “Your lovely wife got a bunch of people killed. I’m not sure how many, but enough that we’re keeping her in the brig until we get back to the Fleet.”
“We’re going back to the Fleet?” Serpell asked. “Now?”
He let out a sigh of dismay. “This ship isn’t even working right now.”
“Then she might be in the brig indefinitely. You can’t keep injured people locked up. It’s not fair—”
“One mor
e word about this, Raina, and I’m putting you in there with them.” Hagen’s free hand had moved to the top of the laser rifle, almost as if he were going to yank it down and use it on her.
Her mouth opened slightly. “What are you doing?”
“Saving the ship,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to save my wife,” Serpell said.
“Then bring her supplies once she’s locked up. She killed people, Raina.”
She had never seen Hagen looking like this, strong and impossible to move beyond.
She glanced at India, whose eyes were cast down. She wasn’t defending herself for once. India, who usually fought any slight, wasn’t fighting right now.
For a moment, Serpell thought maybe India had passed out. But she hadn’t. Her eyelids fluttered just a little, showing just a bit of her eyeball. She was actually watching Serpell, watching for Serpell’s reaction.
Serpell’s breath caught. Was Hagen right? Had India caused a bunch of deaths?
The gurneys moved forward again, and this time, India’s moved into the brig. The area was huge and darker than the corridor. There were individual cells, most of which were empty, and then there were cells with bunks stacked against the walls. Those cells had five people each in them, some lying on the bunks.
Hagen grabbed India’s gurney and held it. He peered over her at Serpell.
“What are you going to do with her?” Serpell asked.
“She’s going in a cell by herself,” he said.
Serpell frowned. He made it sound like punishment, when she at least would have wanted to be alone.
“He doesn’t want me talking to anyone,” India said. “He’s afraid of me.”
Hagen smirked. “Yeah, I am,” he said. “But not of your mouth or your ability to convince people to do things. I’m afraid of the depth of your stupidity.”
India thrashed on the gurney, clearly infuriated. Serpell took a half step back, shocked at what she was seeing.
This was not the ship she was used to. Not the way the Fleet operated. She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but it was devastating, and she didn’t even understand the implications yet.
“Take me to the med bay, Raina,” India said, still trying to buck the gurney out of Hagen’s hands.
“I’ll bring supplies to you,” Serpell said, because she didn’t want to get locked up too, and she was convinced Hagen would do it.
“You are completely useless,” India said. “You should be getting us out of here. Raina. We were defending the captain. Hagen and the others, they mutinied.”
That was a word Serpell never though she would hear on a Fleet ship. Her gaze rose from India’s to Hagen’s. His jaw was set. His eyes glittered.
He wasn’t denying the charge.
The gurneys were stopping in front of cells. The doors would open, gurneys would go inside, and then they would tip their passengers into the bunks. No one got up and ran for the doors, leading Serpell to think that either everyone was trussed really well or they were drugged somehow, or both.
Her gaze met Hagen’s again. He hadn’t moved. He seemed to be waiting for her to do something.
She backed away from India’s gurney. “I’ll bring you things,” Serpell said, and then hurried down the corridor.
She was shaking. She would pay for leaving India behind. Whenever she didn’t do what India wanted, Serpell got in trouble. But it would be hard to get in trouble at the moment, because India was locked up.
Which, oddly, relieved Serpell, and terrified her at the same time. She needed to find out what was really going on. And she needed to figure out where she fit.
If she fit anywhere at all.
The Renegat
Ibori followed the last of the gurneys into the med bay, and was astonished to see them peel off in two directions. The entry, where he had had to decide what to do with Stephanos, didn’t seem to be asking questions anymore.
Doors opened to the Storage and Disposal area without prompting. Lots of gurneys went in that direction. Even more went into the med bay proper.
And Ibori thought he heard a voice coming from in there. Then he tilted his head, and the voice stopped.
He was probably imagining it. Wish fulfillment, because he wanted—he needed—someone else to be here.
He started to follow the gurneys into the med bay, when a barrier fell from the ceiling, preventing his entry.
You must suit up and decontaminate before entry.
He blinked, having never seen that before. He’d visited folks with cuts and scrapes in the med bay more than once, and no barrier had fallen, nothing had told him to clean up.
But it made sense. Given the wounds inside, the fact that something (at least) was trying to save lives, the extreme medical protocols had probably started up.
He cast about for a suit, saw that a closet door had slid open, and the protective gear designed for severe medical situations hung inside. He looked for the decontamination unit, found it just next to the suits, and stepped inside. The unit demanded that he remove his clothing, and as he looked down, he saw why.
He was covered in blood and goo and other stains he couldn’t even identify. He’d had no idea that his clothing had essentially turned into stiff boards of drying liquid. He wasn’t as aware as he thought he was.
First, the decontamination unit rinsed him off, then it covered him with that reflective light he had experienced after coming back from missions on strange planets. He had never experienced this kind of intense cleansing in the med bay before—really, anywhere inside a ship, particularly when traveling from one part of the ship to another.
The decontamination brought the anxiety he thought he had buried to the surface. His hands were clammy. He threaded them together, only to have the system demand that he separate them again.
The cleansing seemed to take forever, even though he knew it hadn’t. The door opened on a different side, showing him a small alcove, with a variety of white shorts, t-shirts, and socks on shelves. He grabbed one of each, slipped them on, and then opened the back door to the protective gear.
The gear was easier to put on than an environmental suit, partly because the gear was looser. He wanted to keep the hood off, but the suit wouldn’t finish assembling without it. At least the hood was clear on all sides. He hated the way that some environmental suits restricted his vision.
He slipped out of the small area, back into the med bay entrance proper. The gurneys were gone, and he couldn’t hear that voice anymore. But the door to the medical part of the med bay was still open.
He finally saw why as he got close. So many gurneys were stacked inside that it was impossible for the door to close. And that room inside the bay was large.
He didn’t hear someone speaking anymore, which disappointed him. But he did hear moaning, and the occasional cry. People were alive in there and suffering. He needed to get inside.
That anxiety rose—almost a panic—but he made himself take a deep breath. He needed to be as calm as he could, whatever that meant. Especially since he would be the only functioning person in the room.
He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on in there yet. He couldn’t quite see. But the gurneys were shifting position, based on the colored lights underneath. He didn’t understand the coding, but yellow lights were joining yellow lights, brown lights were joining brown lights, and blue lights were joining blue.
He let out a small breath. He was going to have to wade into this mess and see if human hands could make a difference, even inexperienced human hands.
He hated being the only one down here, the only one mobile. But it was better than trying to cope with this already devastated ship, and following orders he wasn’t sure he believed in.
At least, he would be doing something constructive.
As he ducked between two rows of gurneys, someone said, “Stop bothering me.”
He peered over one of the gurneys, expecting to see two injured people clashing with each o
ther.
Instead, a woman he recognized but didn’t know stood in the middle of the gurneys, clutching a tablet and looking fierce. She was stocky and strong-looking, but her face was filled with broken capillaries, which suggested she was (or had been) a hell of a drinker.
Of course. If she was a doctor stuck on this ship, there had to be a reason. Substance abuse was a good one.
She had one hand on her ear, and she was clearly speaking to someone who wasn’t here. “I’ve told you. Handle it yourself.”
And then she added, “I’m cutting off all contact now.”
The stench in the room was overpowering, just like it had been outside of engineering. Only here, the smell wasn’t as much about blood as it was suppurating flesh and discharged bowels. The moans seemed fainter than they had before, or maybe he was just getting used to them.
The woman didn’t seem to notice him.
“Hey,” he said as he pushed past the first row of gurneys. “Can I help?”
She started and nearly dropped the tablet. Then she looked at him as if she didn’t believe he was there.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Tindo Ibori,” he said.
“I don’t suppose you’re a medical professional,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said. “I worked on the bridge until earlier today.”
“And you’re here because, what, you have a hangnail?” Her tone was vicious, something he hadn’t expected at all.
“No, no,” he said. “I came with the gurneys.”
Something in her expression changed. It was still fierce, but now it was measuring.
“What, did they send you here to make sure I healed the right people first?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I chose to come here. I didn’t know you’d be here, and I thought someone should be with these people.”
All the fierceness left her face, and for a moment, it looked like she might cry. Then her expression hardened and she nodded.
“Do you have any medical experience?” she asked.
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