The two crewmen hurried off to get what the Captain wanted and returned a few minutes later. Lovecraft had a long ladder, Pullman a short one. Together they made their way up a stair to join Dale and Marala. The Captain led them over to a spot underneath the security camera on the ceiling of the loading deck. He had Lovecraft set up and steady the long ladder for him, then began climbing toward the security node. At the top, he took out a multi-tool that he had just borrowed from Marala and unscrewed the device, camera and all. Then he disconnected its wires and carried it back down. He led the group over to the entrance of the corridor that led past the lunch room, but told Marala to wait there until he returned. He did not want her to see the bloody mess.
As he led Lovecraft and Pullman past the lunchroom, the two crewmen could not help themselves, but stopped to peer inside. Dale did not slow his pace but let the two men catch up to him when they had seen their fill. Using the short ladder, he disconnected the second security node and brought it back out to the gangway above the loading deck, where Marala was waiting with the first node. He handed her the second and motioned for her to follow.
When he was about half-way down the stairs, he stopped and approached the railing. Everyone’s eyes were turned up to him.
“All right. This is a terrible event. We don’t really know what’s happening here. From this moment on, you’ll all be assigned to groups of four. No one will be going anywhere alone from now on. From now on, if you see anyone not with their group, confront them and report the encounter immediately. Alberts will assign you to groups. Now… I want everyone who does not have a witness as to their whereabouts during the last few moments of the previous purge cycle to come to me over here. You don’t need to stay in your lines.”
Dale pointed downward to the deck below him to indicate the spot. Turning to Lovecraft and Pullman, who had been following him down the stairs, he gestured to indicate they should continue on down to the floor. Marala remained where she was, standing a few steps above the Captain, with a security node in each hand.
“Everybody else! Pair up, or triple-up with your witnesses! I want to be able to see each group distinctly from up here!”
The crew complied.
“OK!” Dale shouted. “Now we’re going to form groups of four, combining those of you who have witnesses and those who don’t! Start coming forward to Alberts when he points at you, and he’ll assign you together.
Alberts made a face as he tried to figure out the logic behind what the Captain wanted, then started pointing and combining. Using his data pad, he made a record of whom he assigned with whom.
Dale’s logic of course was that the killer—presuming there was a single killer—was one of the individuals who did not have a witness as to their whereabouts during the previous purge cycle, so the safest course of action was to assign every crewmen without witnesses to a larger group who would be able to keep on eye on them until the killer’s identity was discovered on the security tapes.
Of course, there were a number of assumptions that Dale was working from, such as the presumption that there was only one killer, but after brief consideration, he decided that these assumptions were reasonable and refused to second-guess the plan he had formulated.
“Once you’ve got your group assignment, move over to the starboard wall!” Dale called. “You will all keep to your groups until I say otherwise, understand? Hopefully this won’t be too long, but I don’t know. We don’t know what’s happening here, so we have to take every precaution. If you notice anyone has left your group, go find them immediately. If any of you dissolve your group before I say it’s safe to do so, I will physically throw you and your entire group off my ship the moment we return to Earth! And I will put a black mark on your employment record for conduct incompatible with life in space. So, now… only call out if you do not understand what I just said. Remain with your group until I say otherwise, no matter what you hear, no matter what you hear anyone else tell you. Now, does anyone not understand all the instructions I just gave you?”
Dale waited. After an uncomfortable silence, Dale continued, “All of you, turn to your closest companion whom you suspect might be retarded—and ask them to repeat back to you the instructions I just gave.”
Ordinarily, such an order might have been an invitation for certain members of the crew to begin ribbing each other, but they were quite used to the Captain calling them retards and there was a darkly imperative tone in the Captain's voice as he gave the order. There was a muted babble of voices for a few minutes. When it petered out, Dale called again, “Now! Do any of you think that your neighbour does not understand?”
At first there was no reply. Then someone called out, “What about sleep shifts?”
Dale blinked. He had not thought of that. “We’ll figure that out,” he called back. “Once Alberts is finished with you, go about your regular tasks as best you can in your groups. All right? Good.”
Dale turned to Marala and pointed to the security nodes in her hands. “Can you work in the CIC? There’s a tech station there. Alberts uses it sometimes.”
The girl nodded. “I’m sure I can, Captain, yes.”
“Come on, then.” Dale led the way down the stairs. Coming over to Alberts, he said, “Have the last group escort you to the CIC when you’re done.”
Alberts nodded.
As Dale and Marala moved through dark corridors toward the CIC, the girl eventually spoke up. “We aren’t in a group of four.”
Dale looked over his shoulder at her. “I think I’m safe with you.” He stopped and turned to look at her. She looked oddly unfazed by everything that had just occurred.. “You seem very calm,” he said.
She smiled lightly, but there was also concern in her eyes. “Everyone back there seemed pretty calm to me. They were feeding off you, I think. They trust you.”
Dale squinted. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Has anything like this ever happened before?” she asked.
“No, never.” Dale tilted his head. “Actually, one time a new hire stabbed someone, but that wasn’t much of a mystery. Nobody died. Kicked the guy off at the next port we came to.” Dale eyed the girl up and down, his eyes finally resting on the sailor's knife strapped to her thigh. “I saw how strong you are today. You wouldn’t also happen to be knife-proof, are you? I’ve heard of… people… with that gift.”
She shook her head. “No, Captain. I’m strong, but I still bleed like everyone else.”
“That’s too bad,” Dale responded. There was still a question in his eyes, but he suppressed it and turned away.
“Would you like to know more about me?” Marala asked.
Dale opened his mouth but hesitated. “I don’t need to know.”
“All right, but I'm curious about you though." She smiled genuinely. "Where are you from?”
“My people are mostly from Earth. Mostly.” Dale chose not to elaborate, and continued onward towards the CIC.
XXIII.
Oliphant, Maybelline, Franklyn, and Feorn all turned to look at the Captain and Marala as they entered the Command Information Centre.
Dale met their gaze. “You, uh… heard what happened, I presume?”
They nodded.
“We listened-in using the Intercom,” Franklyn explained. “Keir’s been murdered.”
Dale pointed Marala towards the appropriate workstation which could interface with the security nodes she was carrying. The girl went over to it, sat down for a moment to examine the workstation, then stood again and opened the access panel on top of it. Pulling out some cables, she plugged them into the nodes. Then she sat again and pulled up some menus on the workstation’s UI.
“How long’s this going to take?” Dale asked.
Marala looked over her shoulder at him. “Not sure. Depends on what encryption protocol these use. I’ll know in a minute.”
Dale waited until Marala had more information.
“Shouldn’t be any longer than an hour,” she told him.
“For one node?” he asked.
“For one node,” she clarified.
“All right. Don’t let anything distract you.”
Dale walked over to his chair and took a seat. He looked like a man trying to force himself to relax. Eventually he turned around and asked Franklyn about the SolNav system.
“It’s still busted,” the navigator informed him. Dale turned back around and faced forward.
At the front of the CIC, Oliphant and Maybelline were whispering about something. Eventually Oliphant turned his chair around and faced the Captain. “Maybe you should have asked everyone when they were all together if Keir had any enemies.”
“Mind your own business, Oliphant!” Dale snapped. Then he grimaced, regretting the outburst, and added, more gently. “I’m sure if anyone has any theories, they won’t hesitate to bring them to Alberts. I’ll ask him about it later.
Shortly after this, the portside hatch to the CIC opened and Alberts came in. The four men who had escorted him from the loading deck could be heard stomping away.
“That’s done,” Alberts announced, “but we have another problem, Captain. I should have told you before. The InstaCom’s down.”
“Wasn’t it down already?” Dale asked.
“It’s completely dead now,” the foreman explained. “I wish I could say it wasn’t me, but it might have been. I think something happened when I opened the lid on the box. The self-diagnostic says that the system is unrecoverable. That’s what I was working on during the last purge cycle.
Dale scratched his forehead. “So we’ve got no long-range communications?”
Alberts nodded.
Dale grunted. Things could be worse. Fortunately, they were very close to home, travelling a well-frequented trade route, and it was not like they would lose their way without SolNav. Oliphant would have to be a bit more careful than usual on the approach, where traffic started to get denser, but it would not be particularly dangerous. The worst that was likely to happen would be that they would get some angry voices berating them over the radio for deviating from approved ballistic paths within the solar system.
“Why’s all this happening now?” Feorn asked. “I mean Constantini, Keir, all these malfunctions…”
Feorn was actually addressing the Captain, but Franklyn took it upon himself to answer. “I dunno. When it rains, it pours, I suppose.”
“Why would anyone kill Keir?” Oliphant asked. “He seemed like a normal guy to me.” Oliphant looked at the Captain, then suddenly began to regret asking the question. The Captain looked like all the stress he had been under for the last few weeks was about to get the better of him.
“I have people from all walks of life on my ship,” Dale exclaimed. There was anger and bitterness in his voice. “Not by my own choice, not because the cream rises to the top, but because the government forced this on me. The only reason this venture is sometimes profitable is because I recruit crewmen from the boonies. Consequently, I don’t know what half these chuckleheads got up to before signing on. It’s a wonder that their pasts don’t catch up with them more often, or that old rivalries don’t flare up.”
Feorn shifted uncomfortably and scratched his arms, looking around uncomfortably. The Captain was not looking at him though.
“Captain, I forget to mention,” Alberts interjected, “I assigned that last group to randomly patrol the ship until this is settled. I also assigned Marlowe and crewman Jenner to the MQ. They’re going to grab some guys, go document the crime scene, and collect Keir’s body.”
Dale turned to the foreman and his nervous energy visibly dissipated as he processed what he had just been told. He nodded approvingly. "Lombard's still bedridden, I presume?"
Alberts nodded. "Yeah, he's staying with Doctor Burnstyle."
At this point Maybelline felt compelled to speak up. “What are you going to do when you find out who did it? I mean, are the rest of us… in… any danger?” She ended the sentence somewhat awkwardly, suddenly realizing she might have overstepped with her first question.
Oliphant winced, expecting the Captain to lash out at Maybelline, but to his surprise, the Captain sounded quite kind when he eventually responded.
“Maybelline, all of these precautions I’ve been taking, splitting everyone up into groups of four, is because there’s a possibility the rest of us are in danger. What that danger might be, I don’t know. In space, it always pays to be cautious. That’s how you survive—an overabundance of caution. However, the most likely outcome of this is that when we find out who did it, it’ll turn out that it’s just some random member of the crew who had a disagreement with Keir and lost control for a moment. Whoever it is, he’s probably quivering in his boots right now hoping his companions don’t notice how hard his knees are knocking together. I highly doubt he has any nefarious plans for the rest of us. Whoever it is, we’ll just lock him up and hand him over to the authorities when we reach Sol Space.”
“Should we… break out small arms from the weapons lock-up?” Franklyn asked, perhaps taking to heart what the Captain had just said about ‘overabundant caution’.
Dale gave him the eye. It may not have been a completely foolish question, but it was very close to one. Small arms and the pressurized environments of space ships did not mix well.
“The crew have their knives,” Dale said. “Some of the women have stun guns. They’ll make do.”
Franklyn shrugged. “Just asking.”
“I have a stun gun now,” Maybelline said. “Oliphant bought it for me at Skapstoti.” She pulled the device out of her pocket. The casing was a hot pink colour—very feminine.
Dale glanced at it for a moment, then stood up and went over to Marala. “Is all this talking distracting you?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “No, it’s all right.”
Eventually Marala announced that she had completed extracting video from the first security node. She began scrubbing through the footage as the Captain watched. A few minutes before the moment of tragedy, two crewmen could be seen entering the corridor that led toward the lunch room. Marala scrubbed forward and backwards a few times over the moment they entered the corridor.
“That’s Tavistock and Nunes,” Alberts announced. He was watching from over the Captain’s shoulder.
Maybelline had come back to Marala’s workstation and was watching the video from an angle. “So,” she asked, “it could be either one of them? Or maybe both?”
Dale shook his head, then nodded slightly, “Yes… but maybe no.”
Marala scrubbed forward and the video remained uneventful until the moment of the tragedy, at which point crewman Sanders could be seen bounding up the stairs and into the corridor toward the sound of screaming. A handful of other crewmen were only a few steps behind him.
Alberts was watching from behind the Captain. “Well that proves Sanders’ didn’t do it.” He pulled out his data pad and started making a note of the crewmen who could be seen in the video.
Dale looked over his shoulder at the foreman and asked, “Are Tavistock and Nunes in the same group?”
Alberts checked his notes. They were not.
Dale nodded, “All right. Tell both their groups to find work for themselves on the loading deck—a nice open area.” He tapped Marala’s shoulder. “Good job. Get to work on the other node.”
As Dale moved back to his chair, Franklyn exhaled audibly and puffed out his cheeks. He was looking at one of his readout screens. The navigator got the Captain’s attention. “You know how I said a minute ago that it never rains but it pours?” He was grimacing.
Dale shook his head. “What is it now?”
“We have got a sensor blip behind us,” Frankly said, slowly. “Looks like a ship, but it’s not running a transponder. They'll catch up to us in about an hour and a half.”
Dale laboriously turned around to study the navigator’s face. “Pirates? Really? This close to Sol Space?”
Franklyn shrugged.
Overhearing this exchange, Oliphant got up and went over to another workstation. “I’ll spin up the anti-piracy measures.”
Dale waved an affirmative, then turned to stare blankly forward. He had a singularly defeated look in his eyes—not because there was any real danger from pirates—a few military surplus rockets or EMPs could easily repel pirate boarders—but because it really did seem like the universe had turned against him over the past few weeks.
The purge cycle that began a few minutes later only accentuated what the Captain was feeling.
XXIV.
Dale was watching the sensor blip on a monitor in the Franklyn’s work area when a transponder tag finally appeared next to it with a ding. Not a pirate, then.
Dale squinted at the identification tag. It was a government number. He shook his head and went back to his chair.
Franklyn and Feorn crowded around the monitor.
“Is it Hillman?” Franklyn asked, over the din of the engine.
Dale made an angry gesture that did not actually communicate much. A moment later, the purge cycle ended, and the resulting silence was deafening.
Calming himself, Dale went over to Marala’s workstation, “How much longer? We might have a serious disruption in about 45 minutes.”
The tech girl pointed to a readout on her workstation’s monitors. “Impossible to say, Captain. Could be five minutes, could be thirty.”
Dale swore. “If those government #$$*@!’s come aboard, we’ll never get to the bottom of this!”
Marala looked up at him with wide eyes. Everyone else in the CIC nodded in agreement.
“Do you want to talk to them?” Oliphant asked. “Warn them off?”
Dale thought about it for a moment. “No, that wouldn’t work. Besides, there’s a slight possibility they’re not actually after us, they’re just trying to spook us for the fun of it and they won’t actually stop. Don’t communicate with them unless they send a message first.”
XXV.
“Decryption’s finished,” Marala announced.
Dale went to take a look, and the girl began scrubbing through the footage from the second camera. This video showed the other end of the corridor from which the lunchroom could be accessed. In the footage, both Tavistock and Nunes could be seen leaving the corridor only a few moments after they entered from the other end, and before the conclusion of the purge cycle. Marala played both videos simultaneously, syncing up their timestamps.
“The killer was neither Tavistock or Nunes,” Dale announced. Alberts made a note of it in his data pad.
“There’s Keir!” Maybelline exclaimed. She had crept around to Marala’s side to watch, along with Franklyn. The unfortunate man could be seen entering the corridor only a minute or two before the conclusion of the purge cycle.
“Yeah, but who was with him?” Dale asked.
A moment later, in the footage, the purge cycle ended, the moment at which Keir had been struggling for his life. No one came out of the corridor. Plenty of crewment went racing into the corridor from both ends at the sound of Keir’s screams, but none came out.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Alberts said, watching from behind the Captain.
Feorn, the only member of the CIC crew besides Oliphant who was still at his station, called out, “Captain, we’re getting a call from the government ship. They say… they’re going to run a routine inspection on us.”
The Captain sighed, but remained cool. “All right. I guess this is happening. When they get a bit closer, tell them we’ve had a crew death, but don’t give them any details. Tell them we’re investigating.”
Dale got up and started moving towards the CIC hatch. “Alberts, Franklyn, come with me.”
Marala called out, “Captain! What should I do?”
“Stay here in the CIC for the moment. I’ll arrange to have someone help you with the engine repairs later.” Dale opened the hatch and the two other men followed him out into the corridor. Dale led them at a brisk pace back toward the scene of the crime. If they were going to figure anything out, it would have to be before the government people arrived. After that, nothing would be possible.
Reaching the lunch room, Dale peered inside. Keir’s body was gone, having been collected by Doctor Marlowe, presumably. Dale got the attention of the men guarding the corridor. “Anybody besides Marlowe’s people come in or out?” he asked. They shook their heads.
Stepping around the edge of the room to avoid the bloodstains, Dale looked around. Cautiously, he started opening cabinets to check their contents. Alberts and Franklyn followed his example. It was kind-of pointless, though. The cabinets were not deep enough for anyone to hide in.
“Is there any other way out of this room?” Dale asked. “Garbage chutes, access panels…”
Alberts shook his head. He knew this lunchroom very well.
Franklyn was staring at the ceiling vent in the middle of the room. It was a large vent cover, but not too large. Following the navigator’s gaze, Dale took notice of the vent as well.
Doing his best to avoid the worst of the bloodstains, Dale positioned himself under the vent and peered up at it. There were a few splatters of blood on it, but there were blood spots elsewhere on the ceiling as well, so it did not necessarily mean anything. The vent cover’s screws were still firmly in place.
Dale tilted his head back and forth a few times, then repositioned himself slightly, and jumped into the air. He put his fingers through the slots of the grill and let his whole weight bear down on the vent cover. To his surprise, the whole vent cover, plus its frame, popped right out of the ceiling and he nearly fell flat on his back. If it were not such a macabre scene, it might have been a humorous sight.
Franklyn came over to the edge of the blood puddle and crouched to get a better view up into the exposed vent. “There's no way a man could fit in there,” he said.
Dale was inclined to agree. Nevertheless he put the vent cover down on a nearby table, then dragged the table over underneath the vent. Climbing onto it, he took out a flashlight and poked his head into the hole.
Alberts shook his head vigorously, remembering what he had found the last time he looked in a vent. He looked away, down at the mess of red below him. Something caught his eye.
There was no cry of shock from the Captain. Instead, he announced, “The killer got out this way. There’s a trail of blood up here.”
“What?!?” Franklyn announced. Ignoring the gory puddle on the floor, Franklyn strode straight forward, leaned on the table, and looked up at the vent shaft. “There’s no way a man could fit in there! I mean, maybe a contortionist or a child…”
Alberts was using a pen to poke at something. “Captain,” he said, “there’s clumps of hair in this mess… and chunks of… something.” The foreman looked up at the Captain for a moment and did a double-take. All the colour had suddenly drained from the Captain’s face.
“We have another macropathogen on board!” Dale said, quietly. It was the only conceivable explanation for the trail in the vent.
Franklyn and Alberts stared at him. It was not possible. The ship had been irradiated. Besides, no macropathogen could be intelligent enough to beat a hasty retreat through a ceiling vent and then replace the vent on its way out.
Taking out his data pad, Dale put a call through to Feorn. “You have to prevent the government ship from docking, Feorn. We might have a serious problem.”
The apprentice’s worried voice came back over the device. “I don’t think I can do that, sir. They’re already moving into position to dock.”
Dale’s eyes darted. He could tell Oliphant to roll the ship, making it impossible for the other ship to dock, but then the other ship would probably fire an EMP at them and force their way on board.
“Captain,” Franklyn said, cautiously, “you think a macropathogen stabbed Kier with sailor’s knife?”
Dale shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t a sailor’s knife.”
Imperfectly hearing the response through his data pad, Feorn responded, “What was that?”
“Nothing Feorn. Put me through to the Feds on that ship.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the connection was made, Dale began, “Attention, government ship. This is the Captain of the Pater Noster. We have just become aware of a potential high-risk disease situation. We are under quarantine. Do not dock. We represent an extreme health risk.”
Hillman’s voice came back almost immediately. “Is it flesh eating disease?"
"Er, no. It's—"
Hullman interrupted, sounding impatient. "Then do not waste my time. We're coming aboard.”
Franklyn and Alberts exchanged looks. They both had the same thought: Does this Hillman guy have absolutely no survival instincts?
Dale tried to convince the man of the seriousness of the situation, but Hillman shut him down tersely and disconnected the call. The captain, who had climbed down off the table, stood looking at his data pad in disbelief.
Alberts spoke up. “You should probably tell the crew something before we lose total control of this situation.”
