“So he’s going to wake up with five people hovering over him and staring,” Hester said. “That’s not going to make him any more paranoid than he already is.”
“He might not be asleep, and if he catches sight of us, he might try to run,” Dahl said. “If just one of us goes, he might get past us. He’s less likely to get past five of us, each coming in from a different corridor.”
“Everybody be ready to take down a yeti,” Finn said. “This guy is big and hairy.”
“Besides that, whatever the hell is happening on this ship, I think we all want to know about it sooner than later,” Dahl said.
“So, right after third shift,” Duvall said. “Tonight?”
“Not tonight,” Dahl said. “Give me a day or two to get used to walking again.” He stretched and winced.
“When do you get off medical leave?” Hanson asked, watching his movements.
“Last day today,” Dahl said. “They’re going to do a final checkup after you all leave. I’m all healed, just stiff from lying around on my ass,” he said. “A couple of days, I’ll be ready to go. The only things I have to do between now and then is get discharged from here and go by the Xenobiology Lab to find out why neither of my superior officers has bothered to come see me since I’ve been in sick bay.”
“It might have something to do with two of your colleagues getting eaten,” Hester said. “That’s just a guess.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Dahl said. “But I need to find out what else it is, too.”
* * *
“Don’t bother,” Lieutenant Collins said, as Dahl walked through the door of the Xenobiology Lab. “You don’t work in this lab anymore. I’ve had you transferred.”
Dahl paused and looked around. Collins was in front of him, antagonistic. Trin, at a workstation behind her, was resolutely focused on whatever was on his work tablet. From other workstations, two new faces gawked openly at him.
“The new Cassaway and Mbeke?” Dahl asked, turning his attention back to Collins.
“Jake and Fiona aren’t replaceable,” Collins said.
“No, just expendable,” Dahl said. “At least when it came down to them being on an away team.” He motioned with his head to the new crew members. “Told them yet about Q’eeng? Or the captain? Have you explained your sudden absences when one of them shows up? Hauled out the Box yet, Lieutenant?”
Collins was visibly making an effort to control herself. “None of that is your concern, Ensign,” she said, finally. “You’re not part of this lab anymore. Ensign Dee, the junior science officer on the bridge, fell to her death a week ago, on an away mission. I recommended you to Q’eeng as her replacement. He agreed. You start tomorrow. Technically, it’s a promotion. Congratulations.”
“Someone once told me to stay off the bridge,” Dahl said, and then nodded over at Trin. “Two people did, actually. But one of them was more forceful about it.”
“Nonsense,” Collins said. “The bridge is the perfect place for someone like you. You’ll be in contact with senior officers on a daily basis. They’ll get to know you very well. And there will be lots of opportunities for adventure. You’ll be going on away missions weekly. Sometimes even more often than that.” She smiled thinly.
“Well,” Dahl said. “You putting me in for this promotion certainly shows what you think of me, Lieutenant.”
“Think nothing of it,” Collins said. “It’s no more than you deserve. And now, I think you better run along, Ensign. You’ll need your rest for your first day on the bridge.”
Dahl straightened and saluted crisply. Collins turned away without acknowledgment.
Dahl turned and headed for the door but then changed his mind and stalked up to the new crew. “How long have you been here?” he asked the closest one of them.
She looked at the other crewman and then back at Dahl. “Four days,” she said. “We transferred in from the Honsu.”
“No away teams yet,” Dahl said.
“No, sir,” she said.
Dahl nodded. “A piece of advice for you.” He pointed back at Collins and Trin. “When they suddenly go for coffee, that’s a very good time for you to do an inventory on the storage room. Both of you. I don’t think those two were going to bother to tell you that. I don’t think they’re going to bother to tell that to anyone who works in this lab ever again. So I’m telling you. Watch them. Don’t let them sell you out.”
Dahl turned and walked out, leaving two very confused crewmen and two very pissed-off officers.
* * *
“Slow down, Andy,” Duvall said, moving faster herself to keep up. “You just got out of sick bay.”
Dahl snorted and stomped down the corridor. Duvall came up even to him.
“You think she got you assigned to the bridge to get back at you for your lab mates,” she said.
“No,” Dahl said. “She got me assigned to the bridge because when she had to assign Jake and Fiona, it rubbed her face in it.”
“In it?” Duvall said. “In what?”
Dahl glanced at Duvall. “That she’s afraid,” he said. “Everyone on this entire ship is afraid, Maia. They hide and they disappear and they find ways to not think about how much time they spend hiding. And then comes the moment when they can’t hide and they have to face themselves. And they hate that. That’s why Collins assigned me to the bridge. Because otherwise every time she looked at me she’d be reminded that she’s a coward.” He sped up again.
“Where are you going?” Duvall asked.
“Leave me alone, Maia,” Dahl said. Duvall stopped in her tracks. Dahl left her behind.
In fact Dahl had no idea where he was going; he was burning off frustration and anger, and being on the move was the closest thing the jam-packed Intrepid offered to being alone.
This was why, when the crew presence finally thinned and Dahl felt the fatigue his disused muscles had been trying to alert him about, he was surprised to find himself outside the cargo tunnel door closest to Jenkins’ secret hideaway.
He stood outside the door for a long minute, remembering the plan to sneak up on Jenkins as a team and find out what he knew.
“Fuck it,” he said. He smacked the access panel to open the corridor door.
A yeti was standing directly on the other side. It grabbed him and pulled him into the corridor. Dahl yelled in surprise but was too weak to resist. He stumbled into the corridor. The yeti, whom Dahl now recognized as Jenkins, closed the door behind them.
“Stop yelling,” Jenkins said, and stuck a finger in his ear, twisting it. “Jesus, that’s annoying.”
Dahl looked at the closed door and then back at Jenkins. “How did you do that?” he asked. “How did you know?”
“Because I am a student of the human condition,” Jenkins said. “And as humans go, you’re pretty predictable. And because I have you under constant surveillance through your phone, you dumbass.”
“So you know—”
“About your overly complicated plan to sneak up on me, yes,” Jenkins said. “Your friend Finn gets partial credit for the cart ID thing. What he doesn’t know is that when decommissioned cart IDs get scanned, I get an immediate alert. He’s not the first person to think of that to access these corridors. And you’re not the first person to try to find me.”
“I’m not,” Dahl said.
Jenkins snapped his fingers, as if to focus Dahl’s attention. “What did I just say? Redundant conversation isn’t going to do us any good.”
“Sorry,” Dahl said. “Let me try again. Others have tried to find you and failed.”
“That’s right,” Jenkins said. “I don’t want to be found, and those who use my services don’t want me to be found either. Between us we managed to avoid anyone I don’t want to see.”
“So you want to see me,” Dahl said, carefully.
“It’s more accurate to say you want to see me, and I’m willing to let myself be seen by you,” Jenkins said.
“Why me?” Dahl asked.
/> “You just got assigned to the bridge,” Jenkins said.
“I did,” Dahl said. “And I remember you telling me very specifically to stay off the bridge.”
“And that’s why you came looking for me,” Jenkins said. “Even though it would ruin the plan you made with your friends.”
“Yes,” Dahl said.
“Why?” Jenkins asked.
“I don’t know,” Dahl said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Wrong,” Jenkins said. “You were thinking clearly, but you weren’t thinking consciously. Now think about it consciously, and tell me why. But hurry. I’m feeling exposed here.”
“Because you know why,” Dahl said. “Everyone else in the Intrepid knows something’s fucked up about this ship. They’ve got their ways to avoid getting sucked into it. But they don’t know why. You do.”
“Maybe I do,” Jenkins said. “But why would it matter?”
“Because if you don’t know why something is the way it is, then you don’t know anything about it at all,” Dahl said. “All the tricks and superstitions aren’t going to do a damn bit of good if you don’t know the reason for them. The conditions could change and then you’re screwed.”
“That’s all very blandly logical,” Jenkins said. “It doesn’t explain why you decided to track me down now.”
“Because someone’s actively trying to kill me now,” Dahl said. “Collins got me assigned to the bridge because she’s decided she wants me dead.”
“Yes, death by away team. Very effective on this ship,” Jenkins said.
“I’m on the bridge tomorrow,” Dahl said. “After that, it’s not a matter of if I get killed, it’s when. I’m out of time. I need to know now.”
“So you can avoid dying,” Jenkins said.
“It would be nice,” Dahl said.
“Collins wants to avoid death and you just called her a coward for it,” Jenkins said.
“That’s not why she’s a coward,” Dahl said.
“No, I suppose not,” Jenkins said.
“If I can understand why, maybe I can keep myself from getting killed, and maybe I can keep others from being killed too,” Dahl said. “I have people I care about here. I’d like to see them live.”
“Well, then,” Jenkins said. “Let me ask you one more question, Dahl. What if I tell you what I think, and it sounds insane to you?”
“Is that what happened?” Dahl asked. “Collins and Trin. You worked for them. You told them you had a theory. They heard it and they didn’t believe it.”
Jenkins chuckled at that. “I said insane, not unbelievable,” he said. “And I think Collins, for one, believes it just fine.”
“How do you know?” Dahl asked.
“Because it’s what’s made her a coward,” Jenkins said, then looked at Dahl appraisingly. “But maybe not you. No, maybe not at all. And maybe not your friends. So gather them up, Ensign Dahl. Meet me in my hidey-hole tonight. Same time you were going to invade. I’ll see you then.” He turned to go.
“May I ask you a question?” Dahl asked.
“You mean, besides that one?” Jenkins asked.
“Two, actually,” Dahl said. “Cassaway said they got on that away mission because you didn’t tell them Q’eeng was coming to see them. He said it was retaliation for me trying to find out about you. Was it?”
“No,” Jenkins said. “I didn’t tell them Q’eeng was on the way because at the time I was taking a dump. I can’t watch everything all the time. What’s your second question?”
“You told me to stay off the bridge,” Dahl said. “Me and Finn. Why did you do that?”
“Well, I told your friend Finn because he just happened to be there, and I didn’t think it would hurt, even if he’s a bit of an asshole,” Jenkins said. “But as for you, well. Let’s just say I have a special interest in the Xenobiology Lab. Call it a sentimental attachment. And let’s also just say I guessed that your response to what happens here on the Intrepid would go beyond the usual fear response. So I figured offering you a warning and piece of advice in person couldn’t hurt.”
Jenkins moved his hand as if to say, See. “And look where we are now. At the very least you’re still alive. So far.” He reached over to the access panel and slapped open the door to return Dahl to the Intrepid. Then he walked off.
CHAPTER NINE
“Come on,” Jenkins said, and pounded on the display table. Above the table, a holographic image flickered and then died. Jenkins pounded the table again. Dahl looked over to Duvall, who with Hanson, Finn and Hester was jammed into Jenkins’ tiny living space. She rolled her eyes.
“Sorry,” Jenkins muttered, ostensibly to the five crewmen jammed into his living space, but mostly to himself. “I get equipment when everyone else throws it out. The carts bring it to me. Then I have to repair it. It’s a little buggy sometimes.”
“It’s all right,” Dahl said. His eyes took a visual tour of his surroundings. Along with Jenkins and the five of them, the delivery cart storage area was jammed with Jenkins’ possessions: the large holographic table, situated between him and the five crew members, a thin cot, a small wardrobe with boxes of hygienic wash wipes piled on it, a pallet of Universal Union away team rations and a portable toilet. Dahl wondered how the toilet was emptied and serviced. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know.
“Is this going to start anytime soon?” asked Hester. “I thought we’d be done by now, and I kind of have to pee.”
Jenkins motioned to the toilet. “Be my guest,” he said.
“I’d rather not,” Hester said.
“You can just tell us what you want us to know,” Dahl suggested. “We don’t have to have a slide show presentation.”
“Oh, but you do,” Jenkins said. “If I just tell you, it’ll sound crazy. Graphs and images make it … well, less crazy, anyway.”
“Swell,” Finn said, and looked over at Dahl, as if to say Thanks for getting us into this. Dahl shrugged.
Another table pound by Jenkins, and the holographic image stabilized. “Ha!” Jenkins said. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Thank God,” Hester said.
Jenkins fiddled his hands over the table, accessing a display of flat images parallel to the top of the display table. He found one he wanted and flipped it up into the view of the rest of them.
“This is the Intrepid,” Jenkins said, motioning to the rotating graphic that now hovered atop the holographic table. “The flagship of the Universal Union Space Fleet, and one of the fleet’s largest ships. But for all that, one of just thousands of ships in the fleet. For the first nine years of its existence, aside from being appointed the flagship, there was nothing particularly special about it, from a statistical point of view.”
The Intrepid shrank and was replaced by a graph showing two closely conforming lines plotted across time, one representing the ship, the other representing the fleet as a whole.
“It had a general mission of exploration and from time to time engaged in military actions, and in both scenarios suffered crew losses consistent with Dub U average, if slightly lower, because the Dub U sees the flagship as a symbol, and generally gave it less strenuous missions. But then, five years ago, this.”
The graph scrolled to include the last five years. The Intrepid’s line spiked violently and then plateaued at a substantially higher level than the rest of the fleet.
“Whoa,” Hanson said.
“‘Whoa’ is right,” Jenkins said.
“What happened?” Dahl asked.
“Captain Abernathy is what happened,” Duvall said. “He took command of the Intrepid five years ago.”
“Close but wrong,” Jenkins said, and waved his hands over the table, rooting through visual elements to find the one he wanted. “Abernathy did take command of the Intrepid five years ago. Before that he was captain of the Griffin for four years, where he developed a reputation of being an unconventional and risk-taking but effective leader.”
“‘Risk-taking
’ could be a euphemism for ‘getting crew killed,’” Hester said.
“Could be but isn’t,” Jenkins said, and threw an image of a battle cruiser into the view. “Here’s the Griffin,” he said. A graph scrolled out behind it, like the one that scrolled out behind the Intrepid earlier. “And as you can see, despite Abernathy’s ‘risk-taking’ reputation, the crew fatality rate is on average no worse than any other ship in the line. That’s impressive considering the Griffin is a battle cruiser—a Dub U warship. It’s not until Abernathy gets to the Intrepid that fatalities for crew under his command spike so massively.”
“Maybe he’s gone nuts,” Finn said.
“His psychological reviews for the last five years are clean,” Jenkins said.
“How do you know—” Finn stopped and held up his hand. “You know, never mind. Dumb question.”
“He’s not insane and he’s not purposefully putting his crew at risk, is what you’re saying,” Dahl said. “But I remember Lieutenant Collins saying to me that when people complained about the high crew death rate on the Intrepid, they were told that as the flagship it engaged in riskier missions.” He pointed at the screen. “You’re telling us that it’s not true.”
“It’s true that away missions result in higher deaths now,” Jenkins said. “But it’s not because the missions themselves are inherently more risky.” He fiddled and threw several ship images up on the screen. “These are some of our combat and infiltration ships,” he said. “They routinely take on high-risk missions. Here are their average crew fatalities over time.” Graphs spewed out behind their images. “You can see their fatalities are higher than the Dub U baseline. But”—Jenkins dragged over the image of the Intrepid—“their crew fatalities are still substantially lower than the Intrepid’s, whose missions are generally classified as having far less risk.”
“So why do people keep dying?” Duvall asked.
“The missions themselves are generally not risky,” Jenkins said. “It’s just that something always goes wrong on them.”