This is probably going to go way, WAY over the word limit, but I don't even care. I'm entering this contest to get back into writing like I used to be, I don't care about winning.
Just a taste, so I force myself to commit to finishing.
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Quint turned away from the window as he flicked the shutter closed and the dark everything was blotted out by steel. "Unreal."
"What's that Johnno?" Douglas dusted granola crumbs out of his beard. "Come on, speak up."
"Oh, nothing." Quint dodged a bulkhead and sat down at the table. "Just thinking."
"You keep thinking out that window and you're gonna pull all your crazy in here," Douglas smirked, before thumping his fist on the table. "Come on, Eliza, what's for grub?"
Her distant holler from the galley banged off the sculpted steel with a tinny and nasal quality. "I'll be out there in a second!"
"You said that twenty minutes ago," mumbled Adams. "Not that I'm clamoring for her cooking from the depth of my soul, or anything."
"Oh fuck off, Rudy," Douglas grinned. "Hell, I'll take her taquitos again over that slop you call cooking. I wouldn't feed that 'quiche' to my dog."
Adams tapped his wedding ring. "That slop helped me court a real dame, Xander. You've dined at the restaurant -- she knows cooking."
"Sure wasn't your looks," Douglas grunted. "Eliizaaaa?"
"Shut up! Just a minute!"
A half-dozen chuckles opened the table up to silence. Quint continued to immerse himself in his diagnostics, while the others resumed their conversation with eye contact and various grins. Adams moved his head back and tilted his Red Sox hat over his eyes, feeling the cool tingle of the steel on his scalp, spreading across the crown of his head to his hairline in each direction. Forever reminding him of what lay behind. He closed his eyes and tried to distract himself with deep breaths.
The clattering cacophony of bowls cascading across the table cast him forward, startled, almost knocking the serving spoon from Coseico's hands.
"Dinner's on!" she chirped.
"Jesus," Adams winced. "Again with the chili."
Douglas slammed the bowl against the tabletop repeatedly. "I could eat Peter right now, I don't care. Lay it on me."
Coseico winged one hip to the side as she gave Douglas a generous scoop. "We used up the last pita bread last night, or I'd have made enchiladas."
"Don't get me wrong." Adams held his bowl up in penance. "It's a delight, really. I just don't think I'm ready for another two hours in the bathroom."
"If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." She gave him a mountain of reddish blackness, and Adams wrinkled his nose at the mere scent.
"I'm sure he'd like to, gorgeous." Ever the chivalrous individual, Adams spoke through a mouth full enough to justify why chipmunks don't speak. He rapped on the steel behind him with his knuckles. "Too bad he's got nowhere to go."
"I guess he'll have to suck it up, then." Coseico scraped the last into four more bowls and sat down before one of them. She leaned back and pressed a button on the intercom. "Dinner's up, Donnie. Get over here."
Takana entered from the direction of the flight deck. The room tensed, just slightly. "I guess no one felt like informing me about dinner."
"Was just about to call you, Captain." She gestured to one of the empty seats, and Takana obliged. "How are things looking?"
"You should know better then I do," he mused, before taking a spoonful of chili. He waved his hand over his mouth, blowing out steam. "But things look good. Without unforeseen delay, we should be nearing our position of descent within a week." The denizens of the kitchen relaxed, smiling. Douglas whooped, pumping an arm.
"Shut up, Xander."
Douglas obliged with a salute. "Yes sir!"
As all this unfolded, Quint simply gazed into his equations and photographs. He swirled the tip of his fingers about the crimson dust, imagining its texture in the palm of his hand. The dry coldness that awaited them. He smiled wide. "Incredible."
Takana cocked an eyebrow. "Speak your mind."
"It's nothing." Quint cleared his throat, looking away from the orbiter's photograph and back at his calculations. "Just thinking."
"There he goes again," Douglas laughed, slurping at the last of his bowl.
And to the intercom, Coseico bellowed: "Before it gets cold, Donnie! Now!"
Adams merely sat with his arms crossed, pushing the brim of his hat upward with two fingers. He stared intently at the flyby photograph Quint had been studying. Though it was one of many, Adams could tell it had been the subject of Quint's focus because he too had felt entranced by it.
"I think it's incredible, too." The others looked at him, and although Quint continued his notations, Adams knew his attention had drifted elsewhere.
"I mean it," he continued. "We're legitimate pioneers. We're pilgrims. Christopher Columbus."
"Hope we don't land on the wrong planet," Douglas tittered.
"Shut up, Xander," Quint set his pen down and looked back to Adams, folding his hands across one another. "You feel it too?"
"To some degree." Adams nodded, tipping his hat back down. Like most, he was unable to maintain Quint's rare but piercing gaze. "We talked this out to surplus in the first month, I thought. But now we're there. Essentially. Our hard work has borne fruit."
"That's a good way to look at it," Dr. Dunn agreed, entering from the rear. Peter moved two steps to the side and remained motionless, as Dunn took a seat at the table. "But I don't want any of you slacking off, either. We've got a long year ahead of us when we land, and I don't think anyone will be surprised to remember that our assumptions about the landing are just a lot of theory and question marks."
"Sound theory and calculated variables," Quint muttered, at work once again. "We can handle it."
Dunn nodded. "Keep looking at it that way. Just don't overlook anything." He frowned as he took a bite of the chili. "It's cold."
"That's because you didn't come down when I told you to," Coseico muttered. "Tough it out."
Douglas gestured to Dunn and Peter. "So what are you and Roy Batty up to?"
"Just rechecking everybody's physiological tests. Preparing for the big landing. Nothing that'd interest you, no rocks involved."
"Ah, you're just jealous." Douglas reached over, slapping Dunn on the shoulder. "You know you're not much use once we land on the Big Red. At least not compared to yours truly."
"I'd disagree, but it'd just amuse you."
Coseico gathered the empty dishes and started to walk toward the galley. As she did, she turned to the lumbering figure beside the doorway. "Peter, where is Desmond?"
Peter turned to face her directly. A pause. "Desmond Schue is on the flight deck, Eliza."
"Peter, take this to Desmond." Takana held out one of the bowls.
Again, Peter turned to face the person addressing him. Paused. "Yes, Captain Takana." In fluid but linear motions, Peter's hands reached out, unclenched, and took the bowl from Takana's hands, drawing it toward his chest. Without a word, Peter headed through the galley exit.
"I don't know why Des told Petey to call him by his full name." Douglas grimaced. "It weirds me out."
"It's his name, it's his preference," stated Takana. "There's nothing more to discuss."
"Still, you can't tell me that doesn't give you a serious HAL Nine-Thousand vibe."
"It doesn't give me any vibes. Peter is well-designed and integral to what we'll be doing. I'm glad he's on board."
"Yeah," Douglas laughed. "Tell me that again when he's plunging the knife back into your back."
Schue's foot caught the end of the bunk and the floor introduced itself to his jaw. The rustling of his cabinmates was all that stirred him from the edge of unconsciousness, and he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling toward the direction of the jangling alarm.
“What the fuck is going on?” Douglas groaned, still in bed.
Takana entered and punched a series of commands into the HUD. “Looks like a meteoroid storm. Christ, what the hell is Coseico doing? Schue! Get up to the flight deck.”
Douglas sat up. “Meteoroid storm? I checked it out before I hit the sack, Cap. Nothing like that within the projected flight path.”
“No time to consider that,” Takana grunted. “Find Adams and tell him to meet me at the right airlocks.”
Schue let the rest of the conversation drown away as he scrambled up the ladder into the flight deck, slipping more than once in his fervor. As he entered, he saw a frenzy of orange and mustard lights informing him of hull breaches, and Coseico lying prone between the two great cockpit seats.
“Jesus Christ, Eliza, what happened here?”
“I don’t…” She trailed off as she fell in trying to stand. “What’s happening?”
“Get to the Doc. You’re relieved.” Schue shoved her toward the porthole without so much as a glance to see if she made it through and dropped hard into the seat, eyes scanning across the various diagnostics. He slipped a headset over his head and flickered through the channels. “Okay, Captain. We’ve got three hull breaches about … looks like thirty feet from the front-right airlock.”
“Copy that, Schue,” Takana said. “What’s the nature of the damage?”
He looked over the diagnostics once more. “Nothing too serious yet, but we’ve got a piercing into the life support systems. And a few others. Get out there and seal it up.”
“Right. I’ll get Adams prepared.”
Schue sat back in the chair, and allotted himself one second to panic. Only one. Then his hands began to sweep across the instruments wildly, redirecting the oxygen flow to minimize the leak and adjusting the ship’s angle to ensure Takana and Adams’s safety. When he was finished he heaved a heavy sigh and spoke again into the radio.
“What’s up, Captain?”
“Just suited up, we’re heading out now. Keep an eye on the leaks.”
“Yes sir.”
Adams’s voice patched in. “Can you hear me, Des?”
“I read you, Rudy. What have we got?”
“Looks good. I think we can take care of things out here.”
Schue looked over the sonographs. “Be careful out there. The storm’s still on. Keep your head down.”
“Sure thing. I’ll get the repairs off the ground. Keep us informed.”
“Got it,” Schue confirmed.
A few tense minutes went by. Schue continued to monitor the passing meteoroid field, chewing on the nails of one hand while adjusting the ship’s angular approach with the other.
“Captain, can you switch to the private frequency?” Adams came in.
“Copy that, Adams.”
Schue waited a moment. “Rudy? Captain?” No response.
Several minutes passed, and Schue held his breath for every agonizing second. On occasion he would try to reach out to them, without success. Schue flicked through the headset’s frequencies, asking others what was happening, but none seemed to be aware of what was transpiring in Takana and Adams’s isolated moment.
“Schue! Adams is hit! A meteoroid… “ Static. “Send Peter…”
Schue nearly fell out of his chair as he scrambled for the headset, flicking through to Peter’s frequency. “PETER!”
“Yes, Desmond Schue?”
“Adams and the Captain are in danger! Get out there!”
“Yes, Desmond Schue.”
Schue made a few quick calculations and continued to adjust the flight path. Cemented here, he could do nothing but worry.
Peter moved briskly toward the airlock, each pace measured and indistinct from those before it. He had a task and its performance was set in motion. Beyond that, his mind considered nothing else.
He stepped into the chamber as Schue fed him information about the situation. Douglas prepared the airlock controls from the other side.
“Okay,” Douglas nodded. “Good to go. Get our boys back, Peter.”
“Yes, Xander.”
In a mere moment, the atmosphere was vented from the anteroom, and the outer door slowly glided open, revealing the vast darkness of outer space. Peter moved forward, carefully, and gripped the frame of the bulkhead, swinging around onto the outer hull of the ship. Ahead, he could see two of the crew’s suits -- one of them clutching the side of the hull, and the other floating away, already out of reach.
Peter trotted up to the site of the damage. He surveyed the scene, seeing the holes torn in the hull and the damaged pieces of Adams’s suit still floating in the air. Takana lay clutched tightly to a handrail, welding the last of the piercing. After seeing nothing he could assist with, Peter merely watched Adams float away into the distant void.
“I do not think we can save him.”
Takana grunted. “He’s dead, Peter.”
“I have been sent to remove you from danger, Captain Tanaka.”
“In a minute.” Takana continued to work on the last rupture.
Peter looked at a piece of glass floating before him and caught it between two fingers. A piece of Adams’s visor. “What happened here?”
Takana ignored him a moment, finishing the seal and then testing it for integrity with various tools. “He didn’t see it coming. Neither did I. And then… well, you can figure out the rest.”
He finished the repairs and stood, holding onto the handrail.
“Let’s go back, Peter.”
“Yes, Captain Takana.”
Douglas paced wildly by the airlock, sighing in relief when he saw Peter return, then the hulking outline of Takana's suit swinging into the airlock. He waited, but no third man followed. When Takana signaled for him to recompress the airlock, Douglas felt his mind wipe blank instantaneously. He performed his task and opened the door, then leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground.
Peter entered, taking two steps to the right of the door as Takana unhinged his helmet and removed it. His face was heavily beaded by sweat, and his Japanese features were pasty and locked in an entranced horror.
"Rudy..." Douglas sputtered.
Takana shook his head. "He didn't make it back. A meteoroid..."
Douglas pulled his knees into his chest and rested his head between them.
"I was just talking to Schue." Quint came down the corridor and helped Takana. "What the hell happened out there?"
"It was swooping by. A large one." Takana shrugged out of the suit and looked down, scrubbing his palm across his face. "We didn't see it until it was too late. I didn't. Adams... it struck him right from behind."
Quint bobbed his head, slowly, and an uneasy silence fell over the four.
Takana shattered it. "Have you worked out our new navigations with Schue?"
"Yeah," Quint nodded. "Yeah, I have. This whole thing put us a bit behind schedule, but I ran all the numbers with him and through our simulation programs. We should be out of this storm in a few hours, puts us maybe, a few days behind schedule."
"Good," Takana grunted. "At least some good came of this."
Douglas looked up. "How did this happen?"
"I already told you..."
"No." Douglas heaved backward against the wall and rose. "You told me what happened. I said how. We're running the most expensive and well-equipped space shuttle in history and our chief engineer just got knocked off by a fucking meteoroid. How does that happen?"
"That the meteoroid storm was a problem at all is distressing," Takana surmised. He stopped a moment, then turned. "Peter. I'm putting you in charge of this. Look into the incident. Report back to me with anything you discover."
Peter turned to make eye contact and paused. "Yes, Captain Takana." Peter stood a moment before exiting the area.
"Terrific," Douglas muttered. "T-800's on the case."
Takana ignored him. "We cannot allow what happened to Adams to affect our productivity. It is an unfortunate loss, and we all enjoyed his company, but we must move on from this point."
"'Unfortunate loss'?" Douglas blurted a disbelieving chuckle. "You sound like a fucking corporate condolence card! Rudy is dead!"
"I'm well aware," Takana snapped. "And however you're feeling, I feel that much worse for having watched it happen. I will not tolerate insubordination, and I will not allow this incident to affect our professionalism."
Douglas shook his head. "Whatever."
"I'll accept that for now." Takana hung his suit on the wall. "From a mission standpoint, Adams was an acceptable loss. He did enough preliminary work on our mining and habitation equipment that my engineering background should be adequate in assembling them once we land, so long as I work closely with the rest of you. We are still on course. I don't think I need to remind you that the United States energy crisis is resting upon our shoulders."
Quint nodded.
Takana stole a glance out the window of the airlock, but turned away quickly. "I'll be in my quarters if any of you require a further exchange."
He exited.
Douglas snorted, eyes misty, and ran one hand through his wavy hair. "'Acceptable loss'..."
Dr. Dunn leaned against the cabinet. "You really must be out of your mind, Eliza."
"I'm out of it." Coseico chewed the inside of her cheek. "I'll agree with that much."
"How could you be so careless?"
"Jesus Christ, Donnie, you think I don't feel bad enough?"
"No." Dunn banged his fist in the cabinet. "You know what? I don't! Adams got knocked into oblivion by a big space rock, and it wouldn't have happened if we weren't in an meteoroid storm to begin with. You know what Eliza? I don't think you feel bad enough."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing. I don't want you to say anything." Dunn searched through his drawers, finding some of the medical cocktail used often for more enriching sleep. He slapped it into her hands. "Take this. I'm sure you need it."
Coseico looked up to him pleadingly. "Don't be like that."
"I said something similar last week." Dunn stiffened as he noticed Peter slipping in through the doorway. "Take a few doses and get some sleep. And other than that, yes, you've got a clean bill of health."
Peter took two steps to the side of the door and folded his hands in front of him. "I wished to speak with you, Eliza."
"Oh, I don't know..."
Peter merely regarded her.
"I don't want to talk right now, Peter." She turned away from Dunn and slipped off of the table. Peter glanced down at the objects in her hands.
"That is medical anesthesia. Are you injured, or requiring deeper resting periods?"
Coseico shoved past him and left. "Sleep. Doctor's orders."
Peter watched her leave, then turned away, making eye contact with Dunn. "Eliza is behaving out of character, Dr. Dunn."
"Mmm." Dunn nodded, and bent over the examination table, resting on his forearms. "She certainly is."
"May I inquire as to the reason?"
"It's personal." Dunn hesitated, pursing his lips.
Peter stared blankly for a moment. "I ask only because I am trying to ascertain the events leading up to Adams's incapacitation."
Dunn sighed. "Of course you are." He scratched at the back of his neck. "Peter, did you ever observe the sky, on Earth? The stars?"
"Yes, Dr. Dunn."
"And out here?"
"I have noticed it from the portholes."
Dunn nodded, still hesitating. "And it's not the same sky we saw... Earth is just so far away. Just a speck."
"Earth is at a considerable distance, yes. Visually it is small."
"Visually," Dunn shook his head, laughing. "That's not quite what I mean. Some people feel alone, out here. It's the only problem I've really had to deal with. Cabin fever. Just a lot of anxiety."
Peter paused. "Is Eliza experiencing these symptoms?"
"Eliza sometimes needs... a bit more of the anesthesia than for sleep."
"She requires a higher dosage?"
"No, Peter." Dunn buried his head in his hands. "She felt that she does. Eliza chose to use it. Recreationally."
"Recreational." Peter said nothing for a moment as his mind allocated and interpreted his new information. "As with narcotic usage."
"That's correct, Peter." Dunn couldn't face him, now. He simply communicated through his hands.
"This physical addiction suggests that it may have been a lapse of judgment that caused the ship to enter the meteoroid storm. That is unbecoming conduct of a pilot."
"Yes," Dunn agreed, at last looking up. "But, Peter, you should--"
He had already exited.
"I don't know."
"What, Johnno? What don't you know?"
Quint shrugged. "It just feels really. Back channels, you know, like just wrong."
"That's the whole idea." Douglas took a glance around the corridor in either direction, before lowering his voice. "Look, we all got the same orders. This is our right, if we feel he's not up to it."
"Takana is up to it! He's... keeping on top of it."
"It's all the mission with him, Johnno." Douglas shoved him on the shoulder brusquely. "Come on. Do you really feel at ease with that guy in command? I swear to fucking Christ that guy would let you and a bag of puppies drown before he'd risk another day of setback. It's messed up, man, it's not how it should be."
Taking a deep breath, Quint considered his options. "Alright just... explain it to me again."
"It's real simple, Johnny. We all signed the same contract. If we feel like he puts us in danger or whatever it's our right to oust him. Obligation."
"We wouldn't--"
"We don't have to do any violence or any of that shit," Douglas assured. "We just go in with the we're here we're queer thing and we make him listen to us."
Quint sank into a chair. "I don't know, Xander. It all seems like a reasonable accident."
"I don't care about accidents! Takana doesn't give two fucks about any of us and I don't like it, man! That odesn't make you uncomfortable?"
"...I guess..."
Douglas cradled his shoulders. "Then just back me up. Just back me up when the time comes, it's real simple. Nothing bad is gonna happen, not any more. We just need to stand on our own feet now, you know?"
Quint nodded. "I guess."
Adams had been tinkering with one of the front of the Prometheus II cockpit when Douglas skidded through the door.
He turned. "Xander, you're--"
"Rudy, shut the fuck up and go meet the Captain at the airlocks alright?"
"What...?"
"Right side! Go, man, go!"
The wrench he'd held clattered to the floor as Adams released his grip on it and anything that made sense to him. All that awaited him, now, was the chaos of the unknown, and he sprinted headlong into it. As he drifted through the corridors, he became increasingly aware of the ominous whoop of the alarm state, and wondered how he hadn't noticed it from the mechanical area. And with each penetrating whoop, he felt the ground shiver through his work boots that much more tumultuously, heard his foot strike the ground that much more audibly, and felt his own state of worry carve itself that much more deeper. Nearly out of breath, Adams reached the southmost airlock and slowed his pace, hovering, glancing about for Captain Takana. When he could not find the Captain, he moved on to the farther one, where he saw Takana suiting up.
"What's going on?"
"Hull breaches." Takana ripped the secondary suit off the wall and slapped it into Adams's arms. "A few cosmetics, and one hit the life support systems. Suit up!"
Adams didn't say another word, whipping through the motions of donning his suit as fast as he could. Takana assisted where possible, and within a few minutes, they were both ready to respond to the emergency. Touching his hand to his headset, Takana adjusted a dial before clamping his helmet down. Adams did the same, hearing Schue's voice cut in from the flight deck.
"--Captain?"
"Just suited up, we're headed out now." Takana patted Adams towared the airlock, stepping in himself. "Keep an eye on the leaks."
Douglas arrived, out of breath. He nodded to Adams before shutting the inner seal. "Good luck." Without another word, he depressurized the airlock. Takana waited a moment for the air to finish venting itself before he opened the door, leaning forward and taking hold of the guardrail.
Adams followed, and as soon as he stepped through the outer airlock door, he felt all semblance of comfort or discomfort slide away from him. In each direction, blackness encroached, surrounding him and filling each pore. Shivering, Adams gripped the rail and followed Takana toward the damage. With each step, he felt his distance from home growing. His separation from logic and reason. As he looked ahead, Adams saw the Red Planet beckoning them, just a galactic stone's throw away. Massive. When one had no definition of a sky to refer to, it felt as though this crimson behemoth had devoured it.
"Come on," Takana urged. "We have to fix this!"
"Right." Adams moved forward, slowly, before casting a glance over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he could not distinguish the peridot point of Earth from the luminescence in which he'd lost it. He took a deep breath and focused on the problem at hand. "Right."
Takana regarded Adams, but said nothing.
Seeing the hull breaches, one of which leaking the precious white oxygen, Adams took his offered welder, before checking in. "Can you hear me, Des?"
"I read you, Rudy. What have we got?"
Adams surveyed the scrapes and assessed his capabilities. "Looks good. I think we can take care of things out here."
After a pause, Schue's voice returned: "Be careful out there. The storm's still on. Keep your heads down."
"Sure thing. I'll get the repairs off the ground." Adams adjusted the oxygen valve of the torch before beginning his work. "Keep us informed."
"Got it."
Adams ignored the sense of emptiness engulfing him, the watchful eye of Mars before him. He shut out all distractions -- his wife, his friends, his coworkers on the ship itself, and the very coldness in which he was drowning. There were only two things presently existing: The gashes he was to repair, and the tools by which he would do so. Heaving a sigh of relief as he closed off the life support leak, Adams welded out outer shield shut and moved on to the other gashes. Takana worked on the minor ones, in the meantime. As he moved on to the final gash, Adams's blood froze in his veins.
Embedded deep into the outer hull was an object. A heavy steel, based on its appearance. Gripping one jagged arm with both hands, Adams pried upward until the object relented, pulling free of the hull and resting inert in his hands. It was a peculiar instrument -- and exactly what he had feared when he first saw it. As he turned the discus over and over in his hands, as he felt four spikes spanning its circumference, Adams was able to understand only one thing about the object: It was manufactured.
And yet they drifted so far from home. From Man.
Adams took a shuddering breath. "Captain, can you switch to the private frequency?"
"Copy that, Adams." Takana adjusted his communications in unison with Adams. "What is that thing?"
"I don't know." He held it out, and Takana accepted it, holding it like a fragile child. "But, Captain... whatever this thing is, it's clearly extraterrestrial."
Takana said nothing, feeling at the spikes and looking at the damages they had just repaired. "It's also clearly a weapon."
"We're... we're not safe, Captain." The suit had become overly claustrophobic. Though Adams had accepted the reality of the situation easily enough, he felt himself increasingly entrapped by it. "We're here to take from this planet and we've been attacked."
Through the helmet, Takana's eyes shimmered worriedly, but his voice betrayed no emotion. "What do you propose we do?"
"We can't continue." Adams turned away from the looming spherical colossus. "We have to go back."
Still staring at the object, Takana raised his arms over his head and opened his palms. The object drifted free.
Adams gasped. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want to panic our crew." Takana stepped forward, the pillowy arms of his suit wrapping tight around Adams's unit and turning him around.
"Captain, be careful!"
And just as the last word fled Adams's lips, he felt the impact of the meteoroid as Takana thrust him toward it. His helmet shattered, his suit tearing in several places. He felt the cold and unfamiliar vaccuum of space crawl through his visor and bite at his flesh before releasing a final gasp, fingers twittering as he wished for the strength to warn someone. The thought froze in his mind -- one final, agonizing second of consciousness.
As he turned away from the console, Schue saw Dr. Dunn climbing up into the flight deck.
Dunn paused at the top of the ladder. "Desmond. Could I speak with you for a moment?"
"Sure."
"You should come down." Dunn looked past Schue and saw Peter at the instruments. "I don't really want to talk up here."
"Alright," Schue narrowed his eyebrows before turning. "Peter, make sure you don't touch anything else."
"Yes, Desmond Schue."
As Schue dropped off of the ladder, he felt a hand coil in the back of his jacket and pull him into the nearby latrine.
"Jesus, Donnie!" Schue pulled out of Dunn's grip and turned to face him. "What? Is this about Eliza?"
"Yes." Dunn glanced through the doorway quickly, then pulled it shut. "What's Peter doing in there?"
Schue shrugged. "He asked to look at the sonograph readings from before and during the attack."
"Why?"
"Because he's a robot and robots need to feel productive? I don't know. What does this have to do with Eliza?"
"Right, right." Dunn adjusted his glasses. "Listen. She told me you sent her down to me, during the alarm state?"
"Yeah." Schue shook his head. "I just found her on the floor, couldn't tell you what the hell was the matter with her."
"Alright. Desmond, I need to trust you with something. Do you care for Eliza?"
Schue leaned back against the toilet and folded his arms. "Why? What's this about?"
"Do you care for her, Desmond?" Dunn turned away and ran water from the facet. He let it slip through his fingers for a few moments before rubbing his face.
"Do I ... yeah, of course I care for her. Come on. What's the matter with you?"
Dunn turned away from the sink, closing the facet. "I think she caused the accident, Desmond."
He said nothing.
"When I tested her... she tested positive for the resting anesthesia."
"What?"
"I know. I know, I know," Dunn shook his head. "I'm shocked by it. But I think Eliza might have been using it. Recreationally."
"I knew something was wrong with her." Schue rapped his fist on the wall. "How? How the hell did she get the drugs? How long has this been going on? This is your area, Donnie!"
"I don't know!" Dunn sputtered. "I swear, I had no idea she... I didn't know she was doing this."
Schue looked to the ceiling, pushing his fingers through his scalp. "What do we do about this?"
"We can't tell Takana."
"Can't tell him?" Schue gripped the lapels of Dunn's coat. "Are you fucking kidding me? She got high on the job and we lost our chief engineer because of it!"
"Desmond, be fair! Eliza's had a hard time of it." Dunn's eyes drifted away, to the tiny porthole in the latrine. "Don't you ever... look out there? And feel that strange pull? As we get closer to Mars and farther from home?"
His hands relaxing, Schue released him. "What are you ... yeah, I guess? What's your point?"
"Eliza obviously... I mean, it must have been worse for you two. Up there or sleeping, just a constant cycle. She must have felt it. So much worse than I feel it."
Schue said nothing.
"Please, Desmond," Dunn pleaded. "Eliza means well, she does. This is a horrible tragedy, but I can't see what we'd gain by throwing her to the dogs. You know how close Xander was to Adams. There's no telling what he'd do. And Takana... I don't know what to make of him."
"This is crazy," Schue took in a deep breath and tried to make sense of things. "I don't know. What do we do?"
"I just needed to tell you." Dunn placed a hand on Schue's shoulder. "You're the only person I can trust with this information, Desmond. I needed to bring you in. I think... together, we can keep an eye on her. Keep her in check."
"Maybe."
"You know I'm right." He unlocked the door and peeked through it, before stepping out. "We've had enough tragedies for one mission, haven't we, Des?"
The intercom blared before he could answer. "This is Captain Takana. Please convene in the conference area. I think it's about time we discuss what has happened, and looking ahead."
Dunn started to trod down the corridor, looking back at Schue. "Please think about what I've said."
Schue leaned on the ladder with one arm, watching the doctor leave. He tried to ignore that Dunn had the same bloodshot eyes Eliza had. The same hazy expressions. The same pinhole marks in his wrist. Despite his selfish reasons for his pleas, Dunn had made decent enough points. He dug a toe into the ladder, and began to climb it. What to do with this information?
As he reached the flight deck, Schue saw that Peter had left. His eyes were drawn almost immediately to the radio headset that sat atop the console.
Coseico entered the conference area and took a seat at the nearest corner. Dr. Dunn sat alone, at the opposite wall. Captain Takana stood at the head of the table, leaning forward with one hand and gripping his radio with the other. Douglas and Quint sat together, muttering to one another, and Peter stood beside the doorway. Only Schue was absent.
Crossing her legs, Coseico turned to Peter. "What's going on?"
"Captain Takana wishes to address us, Eliza."
After listening intently to a voice unheard by the rest, Takana gripped the transmitter of the radio. "Right. Thank you, Desmond." Takana continued to stare at the radio a moment before setting it down, and pushing his headset from his ears. "I'm sure you all have a great deal of questions."
"You're damn right about that," Douglas snarled.
"I understand the nature of the tension you're all experiencing," Takana nodded. "Let me assure you of that much. Now, I'm sure you've all heard what happened to Rudolph Adams. He was a good man, and a death of that sort is vastly unworthy of an engineer -- and friend -- of his caliber. I've set Peter into investigating this incident, and I expect he will report to me with breakthroughs quite soon. In the meantime, I encourage any of you to consider this a public forum."
Coseico chewed on her nails, saying nothing.
"I've got something to say," Douglas barked, standing up. "Article thirty-five of the contracts we all signed to take part in this mission."
Takana paused. "You're citing a mutiny?"
"That's right." Douglas took a few cautious steps around the table, pointing accusingly at Takana. "I feel my well-being is threatened so long as you're in charge."
"I understand that you were quite close to Adams," Takana seethed. "But I would choose your next words carefully. You're being unreasonable."
"No. No, I am not. I think you've demonstrated yourself as too callous to run this ship, and I don't think I'm alone."
Tapping his pencil on the table furiously, Quint spoke up. "Xander's right. For you it was... it was like Rudy didn't even die. Like he went on a vacation."
"Alright," Takana nodded, stepping back from the table and staring Douglas down. "You have two. Dunn? Coseico? Do you feel threatened by my command of this shuttle?"
Coseico saw Dunn glance her way before looking down to his hands. "No, sir. I think you're... doing fine."
Takana straighted up. "Good. And I have a feeling Schue would echo his sentiments. I suggest you sit down a moment, Douglas, before you make hasty judgment calls. Information of particular interest has come to my attention."
"Oh yeah?" Douglas stepped forward, fists curled together. "And what would that be, Cap?"
"It seems the cause of the shuttle's drifting into the meteoroid storm has been ascertained." Takana folded his arms and gestured to the room. "One of our very vital crew members has developed an unhealthy attachment to the sleeping agents. Engaged in rather... pedestrian use of them."
Coseico felt her entire body convulse, drawing into itself like the collapsed core of a star. The nail she chewed on broke between her teeth and began to bleed.
Takana gestured. "Ms. Coseico, I think I speak for the crew when I say that your behavior has been unacceptable."
"You? Eliza?" Douglas turned to her and started to walk over to her, before Takana caught his shoulder. Douglas writhed out of Takana's grip and walked right up to her. "This is your fault? You did this?"
"Xander... I... I would never..." She glanced toward Dr. Dunn, hoping to see a supporting face, but he had glued his eyes to the opposite wall. "Xander, please understand...!"
Douglas's wrist was caught by Takana as he brought it back, and Takana twisted it, pivoting and pinning Douglas facefirst to the table. Coseico gasped.
"Peter," Takana grunted. "Detain Coseico and move her to the medical bay. Have her situated. Dr. Dunn, you will sedate her."
"Yes, Captain Takana." Peter turned toward her and reached forward.
"What?" Coseico stood up from her chair quickly, backing into the wall. "You can't do that!"
"Aritcle fifty-three," Takana cut back, still struggling with Douglas. "I feel that your continuance of functioning as a member of this crew would be detrimental."
Coseico slapped at Peter's hands as he reached toward her. Promptly, he snatched either wrist and twisted them behind her, electric pain jolting from her shoulderblades to her wrists.
"Peter, stop! Stop! Don't do this!"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I have been ordered by a superior officer." He began to pull her toward the door.
Panic bubbled in every part of her body. "Xander for the love of God, you can't really want this!" But he merely watched her go, struggling all the way with the superior strength of the android. Shivering, Coseico managed to catch Dr. Dunn's eyes. "Donnie, you have to stop this! You can't let them just... do this!"
His eyes shimmered, but he turned away. "I'm sorry, Eliza."
The door opened, and Peter drew her through it, still dragging her away from the crew. "Please help me!"
And as they grew smaller, the android still shuffling her away from them, the door finally shut them from sight entirely.
"This would be more efficient," Peter chirped, "if you would not struggle, Eliza."
She turned to him, chest quaking, mind blanking and her vision blurring from tears. "Please, Peter. You can't do this! Please don't do this!"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I have been ordered by a superior officer."
"I won't do it anymore!" Coseico wrenched violently against his grip, but to no avail. "I can get better! Peter, please, I can do better!"
"That is not my concern, Eliza."
She felt her knees buckle, and her ankles and calves dragged across the cold floor and she sobbed. "You don't understand... I just, I feel so lonely, I can't calm down. Don't you understand that? Why can't you understand that?"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I do not understand."
"I have a little boy. Back home." She weeped into his stiff abdomen. "I just wanted to take my mind off it. Please, Peter, please, I just wanted to forget, I wanted to feel home."
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I do not understand."
He moved through the door of the medical bay and pinned her to the table. She didn't bother to struggle.
"I can be better. Please let me be better. Please don't do this to me."
"I'm sorry, Eliza." He strapped her wrists and ankles down before retrieving a syringe and slipping it into her hip. "I have been ordered by a superior officer."
Coseico's vision had become a kaleidoscope, a violent mix of her own tears, the weariness of the sedative, and the nausea that had settled into her stomach.
"Did I kill Rudy?" she mumbled. "Please tell me I didn't kill Rudy."
Peter paused. "You did not klll Rudolph Adams. Captain Takana did."
Her heart raced, as she felt a sudden spike of sobriety. "What?"
"Do you require me to repeat myself, Eliza?"
Coseico panted, struggling to hold onto consciousness as she deciphered the white blob of Dr. Dunn's coat. "It was T..." Her tongue went numb in her mouth, lifeless, dead. She sobbed again, one final time, before passing out.
Takana released Douglas and stepped away. Immediately, Douglas turned, fists clenched, and seemed to hover between attacking and retreating.
"If you feel the need to strike someone," Takana soothed, "let it be myself. However, I have done the best I can for your friend, and removed from our chain the one responsible for his death. Ms. Coseico will absolutely not be allowed to take part in this mission actively from here on."
Douglas breathed deeply, fists still bound for combat. "It's not right, what she did."
"You are absolutely correct," Takana agreed. "But let me offer to you the idea that, perhaps, your friend would not want to be honored by vengeance. What Coseico did was unforgivable, but she certainly did not intend for what ultimately happened."
Douglas chewed on his lips.
"Please calm yourself, Douglas." Takana raised his hands. "Further dissention can only further harm our mission, and your friend was here because he did believe in his mission. With Coseico untrustworthy and Adams deceased, we absolutely cannot afford any more losses. As we stand, our team is held together by ducttape. We must not exacorbate this."
A few more deep breaths slithered into Douglas's lungs, and then he lowered his arms.
"Good. Now, I'm sure we all have a great deal of work to do, especially in the advent of our sudden loss of manpower." Takana gestured to the door. "Take a few moments to yourselves, if you need to, but do not forget that. The best way we can honor Adams is to move on from his demise and move forward for the good of the nation we represent. I certainly hope I've proven my concern for your well-being by this point, because we require solidarity now, more than ever."
Douglas seemed to accept this, and exited. Quint remained behind a moment, writing in his journal, before following. At last, Takana sank into his chair, massaging his temples. He sat for several minutes, trying to clear his mind. Even now, he could still hear the crunching impact as he cast Adams into the meteoroid. Takana thought back to his many interviews at Cape Canaveral Air Force Base. To the first time he was approached by the man in the horn-rimmed glasses, who asked him if he'd ever dreamed of being an astronaut.
In learning of the task, Takana was nearly ready to sign away the half-decade of training and actual mission time. Though he had, in fact, never felt a boyhood compulsion to enlist with NASA, Takana certainly understood why he would be recruited as a possible ship captain. His years in the Air Force detailed many successful runs in various mid-east conflicts and a spotless performance record. His degree in engineering was ideal, and a good jumpstart for military personnel looking to enter the obsidian skies above. And yet, in all the tests and profiling, there was one question that gnawed at him -- then and now.
Would you take a life to ensure a successful mission?
Takana had spent many nights in his barracks, staring hard into the ceiling as he tried to answer that question. He had, of course, engaged in bombing raids in his time spent overseas. He lived each day knowing that he had, with almost absolute certainty, taken many lives -- not all of them military. And yet, he had never had to stare a man in the eye to perform his task. Takana had simply done so, without such emotional distractions.
He would stare deep into the ceiling, and try to imagine it as a canvas of all the lives he had taken in war. Tried to imagine looking each one in the eye as he did so, and pondering whether he would emerge from the experience with his patriotism intact. After a time, the ceiling of his barracks was replaced by the cold steel of his cabin aboard the Prometheus, and though he continued to obsess over and analyze this possibility, Takana had apparently felt strongly enough in the affirmative to check the box marked YES.
And now he had done so. There was no going back, not anymore. By murdering a good man, Takana had invested his very soul into the mission. Patriotism, by comparison, was trite.
He heard the door open and glanced up, seeing Peter.
"Do you have something to report?"
Peter made eye contact. "Yes, Captain Takana. I have determined the cause of Adams's death."
Takana felt nothing. Only cold acceptance. "Please explain."
"Desmond Schue allowed me to access the sonographical records during the meteoroid storm. I was able to determine, within a minute margin of error, the precise meteoroid that struck Adams."
"And?"
"The meteoroid came no closer than roughly ten feet from the hull of the craft, and several feet from any of the ruptures. Adams could not have been struck by it unaware. Furthermore, Eliza Coseico has a physical addiction to the sleep anesthesia and this caused her to pilot the craft into the meteoroid storm. Dr. Dunn displayed the same symptoms that she has."
Takana stood. "What else have you learned?"
"There is also this object," Peter retrieved a piece of plexiglass from his pocket. "You said that Adams was struck from behind, but this piece of his helmet visor could not have been broken free if that were the case. Adams was clearly turned and pushed into the meteoroid."
Takana was unsure how to react. He hadn't expected Peter to put everything together, and assigned him the case only for the sake of the crew's peace of mind. "What are you saying?"
"Adams was murdered, Captain Takana. You are the perpetrator."
It was like being caught in a sinister act by a pet. Takana had full control of this robot, and yet he still could not help but find its nonjudgmental curiosity even more penetrating than the justified rage exhibited mere minutes before by his geologist.
"You cannot inform the crew of this, Peter. You must not tell anyone else."
Peter looked away for a moment, his facial features tightening, then back to Takana. "I'm sorry, Captain Takana. I do not understand."
"I was forced to incapacitate Adams for the sake of this mission, Peter." Takana crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "If the crew were to become aware of this fact, they would endanger our mission with irrational behavior. I'm ordering you not to share this information."
"I already have, Captain Takana."
At last, an emotion. Takana felt his mouth dry up instantly, and envisioned his work for naught. "Who have you told, Peter?"
"Eliza."
"Why would you do such a thing, Peter?"
Peter paused. "She seemed uninformed, and suspected herself as the perpetrator in Adams's death. I was merely correcting her."
"You've told no one else?"
"I have not, Captain Takana."
Takana took a deep breath, an unsettling idea already forming. "Follow me."
He went through the door, and headed down the corridor toward the medical bay. After ducking inside briefly, Takana entered and looked around.
"Get me a full syringe of Doxacurium chloride."
"Yes, Captain Takana."
As Peter rummaged through the medicinal cabinets, Takana felt the same uncertainty he had felt with the artifact in his hands. He envisioned the creased paper in his lap, the pen tight in his grip as he looked at the options. YES. NO. UNCERTAIN. He wavered over the latter. Adams would have pressed for the cancellation of the mission, and the others may have supported it if he were to spread the information of their danger. Coseico, on the other hand, was a threat only to himself. As Takana accepted the syringe from Peter, he wondered whether the mission would truly collapse in his absence. If it would perhaps function better if he were removed -- or worse -- and Coseico were to live. Unable to discern this objectively, Takana fled to the comfort of self-preservation. He'd committed murder for the sake of the mission, and in doing so, invested his soul. He had nothing left to lose but his own life.
This was merely collateral.
Peter looked at his hand. "That syringe would cause Eliza's diaphragm to fail, Captain Takana. If she is not administered an artifical breather, she will die."
Takana swallowed hard, easing the needle into her hip. "I know."
He dropped the used syringe into the medical waste bin and stepped back, and watched as Coseico's rhythming breathing movements became increasingly erratic and shallow. He hovered a moment, here, while his actions could still be undone. To offer himself the illusion of a second chance.
But there was no going back.
Without a word, he turned to her vitality monitor and turned it off.
Takana watched her die. It took several minutes, and each time Coseico's torso lowered, he felt the same chilling coldness seep in that he had as he watched Adams drift away from the ship. At last, she took her final, trifle breath and stopped entirely. Takana watched her for several minutes more, breathing deeply, removing himself from the scenario.
"Eliza is now deceased, Captain Takana."
Takana ignored him. "I have new orders for you, Peter."
Peter turned to him.
"When the crew starts to ask questions, you're going to answer them as I direct, now. To the word. This is what you observed." Takana gestured to the white coats hanging on the wall. "Dr. Dunn entered and sedated her, as ordered. After she had fallen asleep, he administered the neuromuscular-blocking drug, but made a miscalculation and gave her a lethally strong dose. You suspect this lapse of judgment to be the result of his own addiction."
Peter paused, looking back and forth. "That is a misleading statement, Captain Takana."
"That is what you will tell them. That's an order, Peter. You are not to say anything else on the subject."
"I will do as instructed, but I advise against this." Peter stared through Takana. "The story you have given me is erroneous."
"Sometimes," Takana sighed, "the truth cannot be accepted by some people in a productive manner. That is why deception is occasionally necessary. As your superior officer, I am exercizing my judgment that that is optimal in this situation. Do as you are told."
Peter stopped to process this. "Yes, Captain Takana."
Quint leaned under Douglas's bunk. "Xander... can you help me with something?"
"Johnno?" Douglas looked up, his face a story of despair and confusion. "What do you need, man?"
Hooking his arm into Douglas's elbow, Quint pulled him up and led him down the corridor to the front-right airlock. Douglas took a deep breath, and looked out through the porthole.
"This is it." He rubbed his eyes. "This is where Rudy died."
Quint nodded, as he began to pull himself into a spacesuit.
"What are you doing?"
"I just..." Quint stopped as he pulled himself into the arms. "I just need to get out there. I need to clear my head."
"What?"
Quint grinned, taking a step back into the airlock. "I just need to keep my crazy... out there."
Douglas tremored, and eventually gave in to a hearty laugh. He latched Quint's helmet into place and shut the door, giving a thumbs up as he depressurized the airlock.
As the door opened, Quint felt the rush of open space swallow him like the tide. He smiled as he pulled himself onto the outer hull and drank in the sparkling calm.
Deep breaths.
He gazed ahead, at the looming red planet that awaited them, and then back at the tiny cerluean marble that was their home. Quint ran his mind over the past events. The violence, the death, and the loss. The lies. Despite their distance from home, he took bittersweet solace in their ability to play very human games, even as they drew ever closer to another world all together.
Deep. Breaths.
Quint stared deep into the rubescent sphere before him, admiring the elegant peace of its every cloud or vast dune, and hoped his friends could meet its example.
Just a taste, so I force myself to commit to finishing.
_______________________________________________________
Quint turned away from the window as he flicked the shutter closed and the dark everything was blotted out by steel. "Unreal."
"What's that Johnno?" Douglas dusted granola crumbs out of his beard. "Come on, speak up."
"Oh, nothing." Quint dodged a bulkhead and sat down at the table. "Just thinking."
"You keep thinking out that window and you're gonna pull all your crazy in here," Douglas smirked, before thumping his fist on the table. "Come on, Eliza, what's for grub?"
Her distant holler from the galley banged off the sculpted steel with a tinny and nasal quality. "I'll be out there in a second!"
"You said that twenty minutes ago," mumbled Adams. "Not that I'm clamoring for her cooking from the depth of my soul, or anything."
"Oh fuck off, Rudy," Douglas grinned. "Hell, I'll take her taquitos again over that slop you call cooking. I wouldn't feed that 'quiche' to my dog."
Adams tapped his wedding ring. "That slop helped me court a real dame, Xander. You've dined at the restaurant -- she knows cooking."
"Sure wasn't your looks," Douglas grunted. "Eliizaaaa?"
"Shut up! Just a minute!"
A half-dozen chuckles opened the table up to silence. Quint continued to immerse himself in his diagnostics, while the others resumed their conversation with eye contact and various grins. Adams moved his head back and tilted his Red Sox hat over his eyes, feeling the cool tingle of the steel on his scalp, spreading across the crown of his head to his hairline in each direction. Forever reminding him of what lay behind. He closed his eyes and tried to distract himself with deep breaths.
The clattering cacophony of bowls cascading across the table cast him forward, startled, almost knocking the serving spoon from Coseico's hands.
"Dinner's on!" she chirped.
"Jesus," Adams winced. "Again with the chili."
Douglas slammed the bowl against the tabletop repeatedly. "I could eat Peter right now, I don't care. Lay it on me."
Coseico winged one hip to the side as she gave Douglas a generous scoop. "We used up the last pita bread last night, or I'd have made enchiladas."
"Don't get me wrong." Adams held his bowl up in penance. "It's a delight, really. I just don't think I'm ready for another two hours in the bathroom."
"If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen." She gave him a mountain of reddish blackness, and Adams wrinkled his nose at the mere scent.
"I'm sure he'd like to, gorgeous." Ever the chivalrous individual, Adams spoke through a mouth full enough to justify why chipmunks don't speak. He rapped on the steel behind him with his knuckles. "Too bad he's got nowhere to go."
"I guess he'll have to suck it up, then." Coseico scraped the last into four more bowls and sat down before one of them. She leaned back and pressed a button on the intercom. "Dinner's up, Donnie. Get over here."
Takana entered from the direction of the flight deck. The room tensed, just slightly. "I guess no one felt like informing me about dinner."
"Was just about to call you, Captain." She gestured to one of the empty seats, and Takana obliged. "How are things looking?"
"You should know better then I do," he mused, before taking a spoonful of chili. He waved his hand over his mouth, blowing out steam. "But things look good. Without unforeseen delay, we should be nearing our position of descent within a week." The denizens of the kitchen relaxed, smiling. Douglas whooped, pumping an arm.
"Shut up, Xander."
Douglas obliged with a salute. "Yes sir!"
As all this unfolded, Quint simply gazed into his equations and photographs. He swirled the tip of his fingers about the crimson dust, imagining its texture in the palm of his hand. The dry coldness that awaited them. He smiled wide. "Incredible."
Takana cocked an eyebrow. "Speak your mind."
"It's nothing." Quint cleared his throat, looking away from the orbiter's photograph and back at his calculations. "Just thinking."
"There he goes again," Douglas laughed, slurping at the last of his bowl.
And to the intercom, Coseico bellowed: "Before it gets cold, Donnie! Now!"
Adams merely sat with his arms crossed, pushing the brim of his hat upward with two fingers. He stared intently at the flyby photograph Quint had been studying. Though it was one of many, Adams could tell it had been the subject of Quint's focus because he too had felt entranced by it.
"I think it's incredible, too." The others looked at him, and although Quint continued his notations, Adams knew his attention had drifted elsewhere.
"I mean it," he continued. "We're legitimate pioneers. We're pilgrims. Christopher Columbus."
"Hope we don't land on the wrong planet," Douglas tittered.
"Shut up, Xander," Quint set his pen down and looked back to Adams, folding his hands across one another. "You feel it too?"
"To some degree." Adams nodded, tipping his hat back down. Like most, he was unable to maintain Quint's rare but piercing gaze. "We talked this out to surplus in the first month, I thought. But now we're there. Essentially. Our hard work has borne fruit."
"That's a good way to look at it," Dr. Dunn agreed, entering from the rear. Peter moved two steps to the side and remained motionless, as Dunn took a seat at the table. "But I don't want any of you slacking off, either. We've got a long year ahead of us when we land, and I don't think anyone will be surprised to remember that our assumptions about the landing are just a lot of theory and question marks."
"Sound theory and calculated variables," Quint muttered, at work once again. "We can handle it."
Dunn nodded. "Keep looking at it that way. Just don't overlook anything." He frowned as he took a bite of the chili. "It's cold."
"That's because you didn't come down when I told you to," Coseico muttered. "Tough it out."
Douglas gestured to Dunn and Peter. "So what are you and Roy Batty up to?"
"Just rechecking everybody's physiological tests. Preparing for the big landing. Nothing that'd interest you, no rocks involved."
"Ah, you're just jealous." Douglas reached over, slapping Dunn on the shoulder. "You know you're not much use once we land on the Big Red. At least not compared to yours truly."
"I'd disagree, but it'd just amuse you."
Coseico gathered the empty dishes and started to walk toward the galley. As she did, she turned to the lumbering figure beside the doorway. "Peter, where is Desmond?"
Peter turned to face her directly. A pause. "Desmond Schue is on the flight deck, Eliza."
"Peter, take this to Desmond." Takana held out one of the bowls.
Again, Peter turned to face the person addressing him. Paused. "Yes, Captain Takana." In fluid but linear motions, Peter's hands reached out, unclenched, and took the bowl from Takana's hands, drawing it toward his chest. Without a word, Peter headed through the galley exit.
"I don't know why Des told Petey to call him by his full name." Douglas grimaced. "It weirds me out."
"It's his name, it's his preference," stated Takana. "There's nothing more to discuss."
"Still, you can't tell me that doesn't give you a serious HAL Nine-Thousand vibe."
"It doesn't give me any vibes. Peter is well-designed and integral to what we'll be doing. I'm glad he's on board."
"Yeah," Douglas laughed. "Tell me that again when he's plunging the knife back into your back."
Schue's foot caught the end of the bunk and the floor introduced itself to his jaw. The rustling of his cabinmates was all that stirred him from the edge of unconsciousness, and he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling toward the direction of the jangling alarm.
“What the fuck is going on?” Douglas groaned, still in bed.
Takana entered and punched a series of commands into the HUD. “Looks like a meteoroid storm. Christ, what the hell is Coseico doing? Schue! Get up to the flight deck.”
Douglas sat up. “Meteoroid storm? I checked it out before I hit the sack, Cap. Nothing like that within the projected flight path.”
“No time to consider that,” Takana grunted. “Find Adams and tell him to meet me at the right airlocks.”
Schue let the rest of the conversation drown away as he scrambled up the ladder into the flight deck, slipping more than once in his fervor. As he entered, he saw a frenzy of orange and mustard lights informing him of hull breaches, and Coseico lying prone between the two great cockpit seats.
“Jesus Christ, Eliza, what happened here?”
“I don’t…” She trailed off as she fell in trying to stand. “What’s happening?”
“Get to the Doc. You’re relieved.” Schue shoved her toward the porthole without so much as a glance to see if she made it through and dropped hard into the seat, eyes scanning across the various diagnostics. He slipped a headset over his head and flickered through the channels. “Okay, Captain. We’ve got three hull breaches about … looks like thirty feet from the front-right airlock.”
“Copy that, Schue,” Takana said. “What’s the nature of the damage?”
He looked over the diagnostics once more. “Nothing too serious yet, but we’ve got a piercing into the life support systems. And a few others. Get out there and seal it up.”
“Right. I’ll get Adams prepared.”
Schue sat back in the chair, and allotted himself one second to panic. Only one. Then his hands began to sweep across the instruments wildly, redirecting the oxygen flow to minimize the leak and adjusting the ship’s angle to ensure Takana and Adams’s safety. When he was finished he heaved a heavy sigh and spoke again into the radio.
“What’s up, Captain?”
“Just suited up, we’re heading out now. Keep an eye on the leaks.”
“Yes sir.”
Adams’s voice patched in. “Can you hear me, Des?”
“I read you, Rudy. What have we got?”
“Looks good. I think we can take care of things out here.”
Schue looked over the sonographs. “Be careful out there. The storm’s still on. Keep your head down.”
“Sure thing. I’ll get the repairs off the ground. Keep us informed.”
“Got it,” Schue confirmed.
A few tense minutes went by. Schue continued to monitor the passing meteoroid field, chewing on the nails of one hand while adjusting the ship’s angular approach with the other.
“Captain, can you switch to the private frequency?” Adams came in.
“Copy that, Adams.”
Schue waited a moment. “Rudy? Captain?” No response.
Several minutes passed, and Schue held his breath for every agonizing second. On occasion he would try to reach out to them, without success. Schue flicked through the headset’s frequencies, asking others what was happening, but none seemed to be aware of what was transpiring in Takana and Adams’s isolated moment.
“Schue! Adams is hit! A meteoroid… “ Static. “Send Peter…”
Schue nearly fell out of his chair as he scrambled for the headset, flicking through to Peter’s frequency. “PETER!”
“Yes, Desmond Schue?”
“Adams and the Captain are in danger! Get out there!”
“Yes, Desmond Schue.”
Schue made a few quick calculations and continued to adjust the flight path. Cemented here, he could do nothing but worry.
Peter moved briskly toward the airlock, each pace measured and indistinct from those before it. He had a task and its performance was set in motion. Beyond that, his mind considered nothing else.
He stepped into the chamber as Schue fed him information about the situation. Douglas prepared the airlock controls from the other side.
“Okay,” Douglas nodded. “Good to go. Get our boys back, Peter.”
“Yes, Xander.”
In a mere moment, the atmosphere was vented from the anteroom, and the outer door slowly glided open, revealing the vast darkness of outer space. Peter moved forward, carefully, and gripped the frame of the bulkhead, swinging around onto the outer hull of the ship. Ahead, he could see two of the crew’s suits -- one of them clutching the side of the hull, and the other floating away, already out of reach.
Peter trotted up to the site of the damage. He surveyed the scene, seeing the holes torn in the hull and the damaged pieces of Adams’s suit still floating in the air. Takana lay clutched tightly to a handrail, welding the last of the piercing. After seeing nothing he could assist with, Peter merely watched Adams float away into the distant void.
“I do not think we can save him.”
Takana grunted. “He’s dead, Peter.”
“I have been sent to remove you from danger, Captain Tanaka.”
“In a minute.” Takana continued to work on the last rupture.
Peter looked at a piece of glass floating before him and caught it between two fingers. A piece of Adams’s visor. “What happened here?”
Takana ignored him a moment, finishing the seal and then testing it for integrity with various tools. “He didn’t see it coming. Neither did I. And then… well, you can figure out the rest.”
He finished the repairs and stood, holding onto the handrail.
“Let’s go back, Peter.”
“Yes, Captain Takana.”
Douglas paced wildly by the airlock, sighing in relief when he saw Peter return, then the hulking outline of Takana's suit swinging into the airlock. He waited, but no third man followed. When Takana signaled for him to recompress the airlock, Douglas felt his mind wipe blank instantaneously. He performed his task and opened the door, then leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground.
Peter entered, taking two steps to the right of the door as Takana unhinged his helmet and removed it. His face was heavily beaded by sweat, and his Japanese features were pasty and locked in an entranced horror.
"Rudy..." Douglas sputtered.
Takana shook his head. "He didn't make it back. A meteoroid..."
Douglas pulled his knees into his chest and rested his head between them.
"I was just talking to Schue." Quint came down the corridor and helped Takana. "What the hell happened out there?"
"It was swooping by. A large one." Takana shrugged out of the suit and looked down, scrubbing his palm across his face. "We didn't see it until it was too late. I didn't. Adams... it struck him right from behind."
Quint bobbed his head, slowly, and an uneasy silence fell over the four.
Takana shattered it. "Have you worked out our new navigations with Schue?"
"Yeah," Quint nodded. "Yeah, I have. This whole thing put us a bit behind schedule, but I ran all the numbers with him and through our simulation programs. We should be out of this storm in a few hours, puts us maybe, a few days behind schedule."
"Good," Takana grunted. "At least some good came of this."
Douglas looked up. "How did this happen?"
"I already told you..."
"No." Douglas heaved backward against the wall and rose. "You told me what happened. I said how. We're running the most expensive and well-equipped space shuttle in history and our chief engineer just got knocked off by a fucking meteoroid. How does that happen?"
"That the meteoroid storm was a problem at all is distressing," Takana surmised. He stopped a moment, then turned. "Peter. I'm putting you in charge of this. Look into the incident. Report back to me with anything you discover."
Peter turned to make eye contact and paused. "Yes, Captain Takana." Peter stood a moment before exiting the area.
"Terrific," Douglas muttered. "T-800's on the case."
Takana ignored him. "We cannot allow what happened to Adams to affect our productivity. It is an unfortunate loss, and we all enjoyed his company, but we must move on from this point."
"'Unfortunate loss'?" Douglas blurted a disbelieving chuckle. "You sound like a fucking corporate condolence card! Rudy is dead!"
"I'm well aware," Takana snapped. "And however you're feeling, I feel that much worse for having watched it happen. I will not tolerate insubordination, and I will not allow this incident to affect our professionalism."
Douglas shook his head. "Whatever."
"I'll accept that for now." Takana hung his suit on the wall. "From a mission standpoint, Adams was an acceptable loss. He did enough preliminary work on our mining and habitation equipment that my engineering background should be adequate in assembling them once we land, so long as I work closely with the rest of you. We are still on course. I don't think I need to remind you that the United States energy crisis is resting upon our shoulders."
Quint nodded.
Takana stole a glance out the window of the airlock, but turned away quickly. "I'll be in my quarters if any of you require a further exchange."
He exited.
Douglas snorted, eyes misty, and ran one hand through his wavy hair. "'Acceptable loss'..."
Dr. Dunn leaned against the cabinet. "You really must be out of your mind, Eliza."
"I'm out of it." Coseico chewed the inside of her cheek. "I'll agree with that much."
"How could you be so careless?"
"Jesus Christ, Donnie, you think I don't feel bad enough?"
"No." Dunn banged his fist in the cabinet. "You know what? I don't! Adams got knocked into oblivion by a big space rock, and it wouldn't have happened if we weren't in an meteoroid storm to begin with. You know what Eliza? I don't think you feel bad enough."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing. I don't want you to say anything." Dunn searched through his drawers, finding some of the medical cocktail used often for more enriching sleep. He slapped it into her hands. "Take this. I'm sure you need it."
Coseico looked up to him pleadingly. "Don't be like that."
"I said something similar last week." Dunn stiffened as he noticed Peter slipping in through the doorway. "Take a few doses and get some sleep. And other than that, yes, you've got a clean bill of health."
Peter took two steps to the side of the door and folded his hands in front of him. "I wished to speak with you, Eliza."
"Oh, I don't know..."
Peter merely regarded her.
"I don't want to talk right now, Peter." She turned away from Dunn and slipped off of the table. Peter glanced down at the objects in her hands.
"That is medical anesthesia. Are you injured, or requiring deeper resting periods?"
Coseico shoved past him and left. "Sleep. Doctor's orders."
Peter watched her leave, then turned away, making eye contact with Dunn. "Eliza is behaving out of character, Dr. Dunn."
"Mmm." Dunn nodded, and bent over the examination table, resting on his forearms. "She certainly is."
"May I inquire as to the reason?"
"It's personal." Dunn hesitated, pursing his lips.
Peter stared blankly for a moment. "I ask only because I am trying to ascertain the events leading up to Adams's incapacitation."
Dunn sighed. "Of course you are." He scratched at the back of his neck. "Peter, did you ever observe the sky, on Earth? The stars?"
"Yes, Dr. Dunn."
"And out here?"
"I have noticed it from the portholes."
Dunn nodded, still hesitating. "And it's not the same sky we saw... Earth is just so far away. Just a speck."
"Earth is at a considerable distance, yes. Visually it is small."
"Visually," Dunn shook his head, laughing. "That's not quite what I mean. Some people feel alone, out here. It's the only problem I've really had to deal with. Cabin fever. Just a lot of anxiety."
Peter paused. "Is Eliza experiencing these symptoms?"
"Eliza sometimes needs... a bit more of the anesthesia than for sleep."
"She requires a higher dosage?"
"No, Peter." Dunn buried his head in his hands. "She felt that she does. Eliza chose to use it. Recreationally."
"Recreational." Peter said nothing for a moment as his mind allocated and interpreted his new information. "As with narcotic usage."
"That's correct, Peter." Dunn couldn't face him, now. He simply communicated through his hands.
"This physical addiction suggests that it may have been a lapse of judgment that caused the ship to enter the meteoroid storm. That is unbecoming conduct of a pilot."
"Yes," Dunn agreed, at last looking up. "But, Peter, you should--"
He had already exited.
"I don't know."
"What, Johnno? What don't you know?"
Quint shrugged. "It just feels really. Back channels, you know, like just wrong."
"That's the whole idea." Douglas took a glance around the corridor in either direction, before lowering his voice. "Look, we all got the same orders. This is our right, if we feel he's not up to it."
"Takana is up to it! He's... keeping on top of it."
"It's all the mission with him, Johnno." Douglas shoved him on the shoulder brusquely. "Come on. Do you really feel at ease with that guy in command? I swear to fucking Christ that guy would let you and a bag of puppies drown before he'd risk another day of setback. It's messed up, man, it's not how it should be."
Taking a deep breath, Quint considered his options. "Alright just... explain it to me again."
"It's real simple, Johnny. We all signed the same contract. If we feel like he puts us in danger or whatever it's our right to oust him. Obligation."
"We wouldn't--"
"We don't have to do any violence or any of that shit," Douglas assured. "We just go in with the we're here we're queer thing and we make him listen to us."
Quint sank into a chair. "I don't know, Xander. It all seems like a reasonable accident."
"I don't care about accidents! Takana doesn't give two fucks about any of us and I don't like it, man! That odesn't make you uncomfortable?"
"...I guess..."
Douglas cradled his shoulders. "Then just back me up. Just back me up when the time comes, it's real simple. Nothing bad is gonna happen, not any more. We just need to stand on our own feet now, you know?"
Quint nodded. "I guess."
Adams had been tinkering with one of the front of the Prometheus II cockpit when Douglas skidded through the door.
He turned. "Xander, you're--"
"Rudy, shut the fuck up and go meet the Captain at the airlocks alright?"
"What...?"
"Right side! Go, man, go!"
The wrench he'd held clattered to the floor as Adams released his grip on it and anything that made sense to him. All that awaited him, now, was the chaos of the unknown, and he sprinted headlong into it. As he drifted through the corridors, he became increasingly aware of the ominous whoop of the alarm state, and wondered how he hadn't noticed it from the mechanical area. And with each penetrating whoop, he felt the ground shiver through his work boots that much more tumultuously, heard his foot strike the ground that much more audibly, and felt his own state of worry carve itself that much more deeper. Nearly out of breath, Adams reached the southmost airlock and slowed his pace, hovering, glancing about for Captain Takana. When he could not find the Captain, he moved on to the farther one, where he saw Takana suiting up.
"What's going on?"
"Hull breaches." Takana ripped the secondary suit off the wall and slapped it into Adams's arms. "A few cosmetics, and one hit the life support systems. Suit up!"
Adams didn't say another word, whipping through the motions of donning his suit as fast as he could. Takana assisted where possible, and within a few minutes, they were both ready to respond to the emergency. Touching his hand to his headset, Takana adjusted a dial before clamping his helmet down. Adams did the same, hearing Schue's voice cut in from the flight deck.
"--Captain?"
"Just suited up, we're headed out now." Takana patted Adams towared the airlock, stepping in himself. "Keep an eye on the leaks."
Douglas arrived, out of breath. He nodded to Adams before shutting the inner seal. "Good luck." Without another word, he depressurized the airlock. Takana waited a moment for the air to finish venting itself before he opened the door, leaning forward and taking hold of the guardrail.
Adams followed, and as soon as he stepped through the outer airlock door, he felt all semblance of comfort or discomfort slide away from him. In each direction, blackness encroached, surrounding him and filling each pore. Shivering, Adams gripped the rail and followed Takana toward the damage. With each step, he felt his distance from home growing. His separation from logic and reason. As he looked ahead, Adams saw the Red Planet beckoning them, just a galactic stone's throw away. Massive. When one had no definition of a sky to refer to, it felt as though this crimson behemoth had devoured it.
"Come on," Takana urged. "We have to fix this!"
"Right." Adams moved forward, slowly, before casting a glance over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he could not distinguish the peridot point of Earth from the luminescence in which he'd lost it. He took a deep breath and focused on the problem at hand. "Right."
Takana regarded Adams, but said nothing.
Seeing the hull breaches, one of which leaking the precious white oxygen, Adams took his offered welder, before checking in. "Can you hear me, Des?"
"I read you, Rudy. What have we got?"
Adams surveyed the scrapes and assessed his capabilities. "Looks good. I think we can take care of things out here."
After a pause, Schue's voice returned: "Be careful out there. The storm's still on. Keep your heads down."
"Sure thing. I'll get the repairs off the ground." Adams adjusted the oxygen valve of the torch before beginning his work. "Keep us informed."
"Got it."
Adams ignored the sense of emptiness engulfing him, the watchful eye of Mars before him. He shut out all distractions -- his wife, his friends, his coworkers on the ship itself, and the very coldness in which he was drowning. There were only two things presently existing: The gashes he was to repair, and the tools by which he would do so. Heaving a sigh of relief as he closed off the life support leak, Adams welded out outer shield shut and moved on to the other gashes. Takana worked on the minor ones, in the meantime. As he moved on to the final gash, Adams's blood froze in his veins.
Embedded deep into the outer hull was an object. A heavy steel, based on its appearance. Gripping one jagged arm with both hands, Adams pried upward until the object relented, pulling free of the hull and resting inert in his hands. It was a peculiar instrument -- and exactly what he had feared when he first saw it. As he turned the discus over and over in his hands, as he felt four spikes spanning its circumference, Adams was able to understand only one thing about the object: It was manufactured.
And yet they drifted so far from home. From Man.
Adams took a shuddering breath. "Captain, can you switch to the private frequency?"
"Copy that, Adams." Takana adjusted his communications in unison with Adams. "What is that thing?"
"I don't know." He held it out, and Takana accepted it, holding it like a fragile child. "But, Captain... whatever this thing is, it's clearly extraterrestrial."
Takana said nothing, feeling at the spikes and looking at the damages they had just repaired. "It's also clearly a weapon."
"We're... we're not safe, Captain." The suit had become overly claustrophobic. Though Adams had accepted the reality of the situation easily enough, he felt himself increasingly entrapped by it. "We're here to take from this planet and we've been attacked."
Through the helmet, Takana's eyes shimmered worriedly, but his voice betrayed no emotion. "What do you propose we do?"
"We can't continue." Adams turned away from the looming spherical colossus. "We have to go back."
Still staring at the object, Takana raised his arms over his head and opened his palms. The object drifted free.
Adams gasped. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want to panic our crew." Takana stepped forward, the pillowy arms of his suit wrapping tight around Adams's unit and turning him around.
"Captain, be careful!"
And just as the last word fled Adams's lips, he felt the impact of the meteoroid as Takana thrust him toward it. His helmet shattered, his suit tearing in several places. He felt the cold and unfamiliar vaccuum of space crawl through his visor and bite at his flesh before releasing a final gasp, fingers twittering as he wished for the strength to warn someone. The thought froze in his mind -- one final, agonizing second of consciousness.
As he turned away from the console, Schue saw Dr. Dunn climbing up into the flight deck.
Dunn paused at the top of the ladder. "Desmond. Could I speak with you for a moment?"
"Sure."
"You should come down." Dunn looked past Schue and saw Peter at the instruments. "I don't really want to talk up here."
"Alright," Schue narrowed his eyebrows before turning. "Peter, make sure you don't touch anything else."
"Yes, Desmond Schue."
As Schue dropped off of the ladder, he felt a hand coil in the back of his jacket and pull him into the nearby latrine.
"Jesus, Donnie!" Schue pulled out of Dunn's grip and turned to face him. "What? Is this about Eliza?"
"Yes." Dunn glanced through the doorway quickly, then pulled it shut. "What's Peter doing in there?"
Schue shrugged. "He asked to look at the sonograph readings from before and during the attack."
"Why?"
"Because he's a robot and robots need to feel productive? I don't know. What does this have to do with Eliza?"
"Right, right." Dunn adjusted his glasses. "Listen. She told me you sent her down to me, during the alarm state?"
"Yeah." Schue shook his head. "I just found her on the floor, couldn't tell you what the hell was the matter with her."
"Alright. Desmond, I need to trust you with something. Do you care for Eliza?"
Schue leaned back against the toilet and folded his arms. "Why? What's this about?"
"Do you care for her, Desmond?" Dunn turned away and ran water from the facet. He let it slip through his fingers for a few moments before rubbing his face.
"Do I ... yeah, of course I care for her. Come on. What's the matter with you?"
Dunn turned away from the sink, closing the facet. "I think she caused the accident, Desmond."
He said nothing.
"When I tested her... she tested positive for the resting anesthesia."
"What?"
"I know. I know, I know," Dunn shook his head. "I'm shocked by it. But I think Eliza might have been using it. Recreationally."
"I knew something was wrong with her." Schue rapped his fist on the wall. "How? How the hell did she get the drugs? How long has this been going on? This is your area, Donnie!"
"I don't know!" Dunn sputtered. "I swear, I had no idea she... I didn't know she was doing this."
Schue looked to the ceiling, pushing his fingers through his scalp. "What do we do about this?"
"We can't tell Takana."
"Can't tell him?" Schue gripped the lapels of Dunn's coat. "Are you fucking kidding me? She got high on the job and we lost our chief engineer because of it!"
"Desmond, be fair! Eliza's had a hard time of it." Dunn's eyes drifted away, to the tiny porthole in the latrine. "Don't you ever... look out there? And feel that strange pull? As we get closer to Mars and farther from home?"
His hands relaxing, Schue released him. "What are you ... yeah, I guess? What's your point?"
"Eliza obviously... I mean, it must have been worse for you two. Up there or sleeping, just a constant cycle. She must have felt it. So much worse than I feel it."
Schue said nothing.
"Please, Desmond," Dunn pleaded. "Eliza means well, she does. This is a horrible tragedy, but I can't see what we'd gain by throwing her to the dogs. You know how close Xander was to Adams. There's no telling what he'd do. And Takana... I don't know what to make of him."
"This is crazy," Schue took in a deep breath and tried to make sense of things. "I don't know. What do we do?"
"I just needed to tell you." Dunn placed a hand on Schue's shoulder. "You're the only person I can trust with this information, Desmond. I needed to bring you in. I think... together, we can keep an eye on her. Keep her in check."
"Maybe."
"You know I'm right." He unlocked the door and peeked through it, before stepping out. "We've had enough tragedies for one mission, haven't we, Des?"
The intercom blared before he could answer. "This is Captain Takana. Please convene in the conference area. I think it's about time we discuss what has happened, and looking ahead."
Dunn started to trod down the corridor, looking back at Schue. "Please think about what I've said."
Schue leaned on the ladder with one arm, watching the doctor leave. He tried to ignore that Dunn had the same bloodshot eyes Eliza had. The same hazy expressions. The same pinhole marks in his wrist. Despite his selfish reasons for his pleas, Dunn had made decent enough points. He dug a toe into the ladder, and began to climb it. What to do with this information?
As he reached the flight deck, Schue saw that Peter had left. His eyes were drawn almost immediately to the radio headset that sat atop the console.
Coseico entered the conference area and took a seat at the nearest corner. Dr. Dunn sat alone, at the opposite wall. Captain Takana stood at the head of the table, leaning forward with one hand and gripping his radio with the other. Douglas and Quint sat together, muttering to one another, and Peter stood beside the doorway. Only Schue was absent.
Crossing her legs, Coseico turned to Peter. "What's going on?"
"Captain Takana wishes to address us, Eliza."
After listening intently to a voice unheard by the rest, Takana gripped the transmitter of the radio. "Right. Thank you, Desmond." Takana continued to stare at the radio a moment before setting it down, and pushing his headset from his ears. "I'm sure you all have a great deal of questions."
"You're damn right about that," Douglas snarled.
"I understand the nature of the tension you're all experiencing," Takana nodded. "Let me assure you of that much. Now, I'm sure you've all heard what happened to Rudolph Adams. He was a good man, and a death of that sort is vastly unworthy of an engineer -- and friend -- of his caliber. I've set Peter into investigating this incident, and I expect he will report to me with breakthroughs quite soon. In the meantime, I encourage any of you to consider this a public forum."
Coseico chewed on her nails, saying nothing.
"I've got something to say," Douglas barked, standing up. "Article thirty-five of the contracts we all signed to take part in this mission."
Takana paused. "You're citing a mutiny?"
"That's right." Douglas took a few cautious steps around the table, pointing accusingly at Takana. "I feel my well-being is threatened so long as you're in charge."
"I understand that you were quite close to Adams," Takana seethed. "But I would choose your next words carefully. You're being unreasonable."
"No. No, I am not. I think you've demonstrated yourself as too callous to run this ship, and I don't think I'm alone."
Tapping his pencil on the table furiously, Quint spoke up. "Xander's right. For you it was... it was like Rudy didn't even die. Like he went on a vacation."
"Alright," Takana nodded, stepping back from the table and staring Douglas down. "You have two. Dunn? Coseico? Do you feel threatened by my command of this shuttle?"
Coseico saw Dunn glance her way before looking down to his hands. "No, sir. I think you're... doing fine."
Takana straighted up. "Good. And I have a feeling Schue would echo his sentiments. I suggest you sit down a moment, Douglas, before you make hasty judgment calls. Information of particular interest has come to my attention."
"Oh yeah?" Douglas stepped forward, fists curled together. "And what would that be, Cap?"
"It seems the cause of the shuttle's drifting into the meteoroid storm has been ascertained." Takana folded his arms and gestured to the room. "One of our very vital crew members has developed an unhealthy attachment to the sleeping agents. Engaged in rather... pedestrian use of them."
Coseico felt her entire body convulse, drawing into itself like the collapsed core of a star. The nail she chewed on broke between her teeth and began to bleed.
Takana gestured. "Ms. Coseico, I think I speak for the crew when I say that your behavior has been unacceptable."
"You? Eliza?" Douglas turned to her and started to walk over to her, before Takana caught his shoulder. Douglas writhed out of Takana's grip and walked right up to her. "This is your fault? You did this?"
"Xander... I... I would never..." She glanced toward Dr. Dunn, hoping to see a supporting face, but he had glued his eyes to the opposite wall. "Xander, please understand...!"
Douglas's wrist was caught by Takana as he brought it back, and Takana twisted it, pivoting and pinning Douglas facefirst to the table. Coseico gasped.
"Peter," Takana grunted. "Detain Coseico and move her to the medical bay. Have her situated. Dr. Dunn, you will sedate her."
"Yes, Captain Takana." Peter turned toward her and reached forward.
"What?" Coseico stood up from her chair quickly, backing into the wall. "You can't do that!"
"Aritcle fifty-three," Takana cut back, still struggling with Douglas. "I feel that your continuance of functioning as a member of this crew would be detrimental."
Coseico slapped at Peter's hands as he reached toward her. Promptly, he snatched either wrist and twisted them behind her, electric pain jolting from her shoulderblades to her wrists.
"Peter, stop! Stop! Don't do this!"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I have been ordered by a superior officer." He began to pull her toward the door.
Panic bubbled in every part of her body. "Xander for the love of God, you can't really want this!" But he merely watched her go, struggling all the way with the superior strength of the android. Shivering, Coseico managed to catch Dr. Dunn's eyes. "Donnie, you have to stop this! You can't let them just... do this!"
His eyes shimmered, but he turned away. "I'm sorry, Eliza."
The door opened, and Peter drew her through it, still dragging her away from the crew. "Please help me!"
And as they grew smaller, the android still shuffling her away from them, the door finally shut them from sight entirely.
"This would be more efficient," Peter chirped, "if you would not struggle, Eliza."
She turned to him, chest quaking, mind blanking and her vision blurring from tears. "Please, Peter. You can't do this! Please don't do this!"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I have been ordered by a superior officer."
"I won't do it anymore!" Coseico wrenched violently against his grip, but to no avail. "I can get better! Peter, please, I can do better!"
"That is not my concern, Eliza."
She felt her knees buckle, and her ankles and calves dragged across the cold floor and she sobbed. "You don't understand... I just, I feel so lonely, I can't calm down. Don't you understand that? Why can't you understand that?"
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I do not understand."
"I have a little boy. Back home." She weeped into his stiff abdomen. "I just wanted to take my mind off it. Please, Peter, please, I just wanted to forget, I wanted to feel home."
"I'm sorry, Eliza. I do not understand."
He moved through the door of the medical bay and pinned her to the table. She didn't bother to struggle.
"I can be better. Please let me be better. Please don't do this to me."
"I'm sorry, Eliza." He strapped her wrists and ankles down before retrieving a syringe and slipping it into her hip. "I have been ordered by a superior officer."
Coseico's vision had become a kaleidoscope, a violent mix of her own tears, the weariness of the sedative, and the nausea that had settled into her stomach.
"Did I kill Rudy?" she mumbled. "Please tell me I didn't kill Rudy."
Peter paused. "You did not klll Rudolph Adams. Captain Takana did."
Her heart raced, as she felt a sudden spike of sobriety. "What?"
"Do you require me to repeat myself, Eliza?"
Coseico panted, struggling to hold onto consciousness as she deciphered the white blob of Dr. Dunn's coat. "It was T..." Her tongue went numb in her mouth, lifeless, dead. She sobbed again, one final time, before passing out.
Takana released Douglas and stepped away. Immediately, Douglas turned, fists clenched, and seemed to hover between attacking and retreating.
"If you feel the need to strike someone," Takana soothed, "let it be myself. However, I have done the best I can for your friend, and removed from our chain the one responsible for his death. Ms. Coseico will absolutely not be allowed to take part in this mission actively from here on."
Douglas breathed deeply, fists still bound for combat. "It's not right, what she did."
"You are absolutely correct," Takana agreed. "But let me offer to you the idea that, perhaps, your friend would not want to be honored by vengeance. What Coseico did was unforgivable, but she certainly did not intend for what ultimately happened."
Douglas chewed on his lips.
"Please calm yourself, Douglas." Takana raised his hands. "Further dissention can only further harm our mission, and your friend was here because he did believe in his mission. With Coseico untrustworthy and Adams deceased, we absolutely cannot afford any more losses. As we stand, our team is held together by ducttape. We must not exacorbate this."
A few more deep breaths slithered into Douglas's lungs, and then he lowered his arms.
"Good. Now, I'm sure we all have a great deal of work to do, especially in the advent of our sudden loss of manpower." Takana gestured to the door. "Take a few moments to yourselves, if you need to, but do not forget that. The best way we can honor Adams is to move on from his demise and move forward for the good of the nation we represent. I certainly hope I've proven my concern for your well-being by this point, because we require solidarity now, more than ever."
Douglas seemed to accept this, and exited. Quint remained behind a moment, writing in his journal, before following. At last, Takana sank into his chair, massaging his temples. He sat for several minutes, trying to clear his mind. Even now, he could still hear the crunching impact as he cast Adams into the meteoroid. Takana thought back to his many interviews at Cape Canaveral Air Force Base. To the first time he was approached by the man in the horn-rimmed glasses, who asked him if he'd ever dreamed of being an astronaut.
In learning of the task, Takana was nearly ready to sign away the half-decade of training and actual mission time. Though he had, in fact, never felt a boyhood compulsion to enlist with NASA, Takana certainly understood why he would be recruited as a possible ship captain. His years in the Air Force detailed many successful runs in various mid-east conflicts and a spotless performance record. His degree in engineering was ideal, and a good jumpstart for military personnel looking to enter the obsidian skies above. And yet, in all the tests and profiling, there was one question that gnawed at him -- then and now.
Would you take a life to ensure a successful mission?
Takana had spent many nights in his barracks, staring hard into the ceiling as he tried to answer that question. He had, of course, engaged in bombing raids in his time spent overseas. He lived each day knowing that he had, with almost absolute certainty, taken many lives -- not all of them military. And yet, he had never had to stare a man in the eye to perform his task. Takana had simply done so, without such emotional distractions.
He would stare deep into the ceiling, and try to imagine it as a canvas of all the lives he had taken in war. Tried to imagine looking each one in the eye as he did so, and pondering whether he would emerge from the experience with his patriotism intact. After a time, the ceiling of his barracks was replaced by the cold steel of his cabin aboard the Prometheus, and though he continued to obsess over and analyze this possibility, Takana had apparently felt strongly enough in the affirmative to check the box marked YES.
And now he had done so. There was no going back, not anymore. By murdering a good man, Takana had invested his very soul into the mission. Patriotism, by comparison, was trite.
He heard the door open and glanced up, seeing Peter.
"Do you have something to report?"
Peter made eye contact. "Yes, Captain Takana. I have determined the cause of Adams's death."
Takana felt nothing. Only cold acceptance. "Please explain."
"Desmond Schue allowed me to access the sonographical records during the meteoroid storm. I was able to determine, within a minute margin of error, the precise meteoroid that struck Adams."
"And?"
"The meteoroid came no closer than roughly ten feet from the hull of the craft, and several feet from any of the ruptures. Adams could not have been struck by it unaware. Furthermore, Eliza Coseico has a physical addiction to the sleep anesthesia and this caused her to pilot the craft into the meteoroid storm. Dr. Dunn displayed the same symptoms that she has."
Takana stood. "What else have you learned?"
"There is also this object," Peter retrieved a piece of plexiglass from his pocket. "You said that Adams was struck from behind, but this piece of his helmet visor could not have been broken free if that were the case. Adams was clearly turned and pushed into the meteoroid."
Takana was unsure how to react. He hadn't expected Peter to put everything together, and assigned him the case only for the sake of the crew's peace of mind. "What are you saying?"
"Adams was murdered, Captain Takana. You are the perpetrator."
It was like being caught in a sinister act by a pet. Takana had full control of this robot, and yet he still could not help but find its nonjudgmental curiosity even more penetrating than the justified rage exhibited mere minutes before by his geologist.
"You cannot inform the crew of this, Peter. You must not tell anyone else."
Peter looked away for a moment, his facial features tightening, then back to Takana. "I'm sorry, Captain Takana. I do not understand."
"I was forced to incapacitate Adams for the sake of this mission, Peter." Takana crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "If the crew were to become aware of this fact, they would endanger our mission with irrational behavior. I'm ordering you not to share this information."
"I already have, Captain Takana."
At last, an emotion. Takana felt his mouth dry up instantly, and envisioned his work for naught. "Who have you told, Peter?"
"Eliza."
"Why would you do such a thing, Peter?"
Peter paused. "She seemed uninformed, and suspected herself as the perpetrator in Adams's death. I was merely correcting her."
"You've told no one else?"
"I have not, Captain Takana."
Takana took a deep breath, an unsettling idea already forming. "Follow me."
He went through the door, and headed down the corridor toward the medical bay. After ducking inside briefly, Takana entered and looked around.
"Get me a full syringe of Doxacurium chloride."
"Yes, Captain Takana."
As Peter rummaged through the medicinal cabinets, Takana felt the same uncertainty he had felt with the artifact in his hands. He envisioned the creased paper in his lap, the pen tight in his grip as he looked at the options. YES. NO. UNCERTAIN. He wavered over the latter. Adams would have pressed for the cancellation of the mission, and the others may have supported it if he were to spread the information of their danger. Coseico, on the other hand, was a threat only to himself. As Takana accepted the syringe from Peter, he wondered whether the mission would truly collapse in his absence. If it would perhaps function better if he were removed -- or worse -- and Coseico were to live. Unable to discern this objectively, Takana fled to the comfort of self-preservation. He'd committed murder for the sake of the mission, and in doing so, invested his soul. He had nothing left to lose but his own life.
This was merely collateral.
Peter looked at his hand. "That syringe would cause Eliza's diaphragm to fail, Captain Takana. If she is not administered an artifical breather, she will die."
Takana swallowed hard, easing the needle into her hip. "I know."
He dropped the used syringe into the medical waste bin and stepped back, and watched as Coseico's rhythming breathing movements became increasingly erratic and shallow. He hovered a moment, here, while his actions could still be undone. To offer himself the illusion of a second chance.
But there was no going back.
Without a word, he turned to her vitality monitor and turned it off.
Takana watched her die. It took several minutes, and each time Coseico's torso lowered, he felt the same chilling coldness seep in that he had as he watched Adams drift away from the ship. At last, she took her final, trifle breath and stopped entirely. Takana watched her for several minutes more, breathing deeply, removing himself from the scenario.
"Eliza is now deceased, Captain Takana."
Takana ignored him. "I have new orders for you, Peter."
Peter turned to him.
"When the crew starts to ask questions, you're going to answer them as I direct, now. To the word. This is what you observed." Takana gestured to the white coats hanging on the wall. "Dr. Dunn entered and sedated her, as ordered. After she had fallen asleep, he administered the neuromuscular-blocking drug, but made a miscalculation and gave her a lethally strong dose. You suspect this lapse of judgment to be the result of his own addiction."
Peter paused, looking back and forth. "That is a misleading statement, Captain Takana."
"That is what you will tell them. That's an order, Peter. You are not to say anything else on the subject."
"I will do as instructed, but I advise against this." Peter stared through Takana. "The story you have given me is erroneous."
"Sometimes," Takana sighed, "the truth cannot be accepted by some people in a productive manner. That is why deception is occasionally necessary. As your superior officer, I am exercizing my judgment that that is optimal in this situation. Do as you are told."
Peter stopped to process this. "Yes, Captain Takana."
Quint leaned under Douglas's bunk. "Xander... can you help me with something?"
"Johnno?" Douglas looked up, his face a story of despair and confusion. "What do you need, man?"
Hooking his arm into Douglas's elbow, Quint pulled him up and led him down the corridor to the front-right airlock. Douglas took a deep breath, and looked out through the porthole.
"This is it." He rubbed his eyes. "This is where Rudy died."
Quint nodded, as he began to pull himself into a spacesuit.
"What are you doing?"
"I just..." Quint stopped as he pulled himself into the arms. "I just need to get out there. I need to clear my head."
"What?"
Quint grinned, taking a step back into the airlock. "I just need to keep my crazy... out there."
Douglas tremored, and eventually gave in to a hearty laugh. He latched Quint's helmet into place and shut the door, giving a thumbs up as he depressurized the airlock.
As the door opened, Quint felt the rush of open space swallow him like the tide. He smiled as he pulled himself onto the outer hull and drank in the sparkling calm.
Deep breaths.
He gazed ahead, at the looming red planet that awaited them, and then back at the tiny cerluean marble that was their home. Quint ran his mind over the past events. The violence, the death, and the loss. The lies. Despite their distance from home, he took bittersweet solace in their ability to play very human games, even as they drew ever closer to another world all together.
Deep. Breaths.
Quint stared deep into the rubescent sphere before him, admiring the elegant peace of its every cloud or vast dune, and hoped his friends could meet its example.
