Redshirts

“If he’s tracking the captain and the senior officers, then he’s going to be active when they are,” Dahl said. “That means first shift. If we go in right after the start of third shift, we have a chance to catch him while he’s asleep.”

“So he’s going to wake up with five people hovering over him and staring,” Hester said. “That’s not going to make him any more paranoid than he already is.”

“He might not be asleep, and if he catches sight of us, he might try to run,” Dahl said. “If just one of us goes, he might get past us. He’s less likely to get past five of us, each coming in from a different corridor.”

“Everybody be ready to take down a yeti,” Finn said. “This guy is big and hairy.”

“Besides that, whatever the hell is happening on this ship, I think we all want to know about it sooner than later,” Dahl said.

“So, right after third shift,” Duvall said. “Tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Dahl said. “Give me a day or two to get used to walking again.” He stretched and winced.

“When do you get off medical leave?” Hanson asked, watching his movements.

“Last day today,” Dahl said. “They’re going to do a final checkup after you all leave. I’m all healed, just stiff from lying around on my ass,” he said. “A couple of days, I’ll be ready to go. The only things I have to do between now and then is get discharged from here and go by the Xenobiology Lab to find out why neither of my superior officers has bothered to come see me since I’ve been in sick bay.”

“It might have something to do with two of your colleagues getting eaten,” Hester said. “That’s just a guess.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Dahl said. “But I need to find out what else it is, too.”

* * *

“Don’t bother,” Lieutenant Collins said, as Dahl walked through the door of the Xenobiology Lab. “You don’t work in this lab anymore. I’ve had you transferred.”

Dahl paused and looked around. Collins was in front of him, antagonistic. Trin, at a workstation behind her, was resolutely focused on whatever was on his work tablet. From other workstations, two new faces gawked openly at him.

“The new Cassaway and Mbeke?” Dahl asked, turning his attention back to Collins.

“Jake and Fiona aren’t replaceable,” Collins said.

“No, just expendable,” Dahl said. “At least when it came down to them being on an away team.” He motioned with his head to the new crew members. “Told them yet about Q’eeng? Or the captain? Have you explained your sudden absences when one of them shows up? Hauled out the Box yet, Lieutenant?”

Collins was visibly making an effort to control herself. “None of that is your concern, Ensign,” she said, finally. “You’re not part of this lab anymore. Ensign Dee, the junior science officer on the bridge, fell to her death a week ago, on an away mission. I recommended you to Q’eeng as her replacement. He agreed. You start tomorrow. Technically, it’s a promotion. Congratulations.”

“Someone once told me to stay off the bridge,” Dahl said, and then nodded over at Trin. “Two people did, actually. But one of them was more forceful about it.”

“Nonsense,” Collins said. “The bridge is the perfect place for someone like you. You’ll be in contact with senior officers on a daily basis. They’ll get to know you very well. And there will be lots of opportunities for adventure. You’ll be going on away missions weekly. Sometimes even more often than that.” She smiled thinly.

“Well,” Dahl said. “You putting me in for this promotion certainly shows what you think of me, Lieutenant.”

“Think nothing of it,” Collins said. “It’s no more than you deserve. And now, I think you better run along, Ensign. You’ll need your rest for your first day on the bridge.”

Dahl straightened and saluted crisply. Collins turned away without acknowledgment.

Dahl turned and headed for the door but then changed his mind and stalked up to the new crew. “How long have you been here?” he asked the closest one of them.

She looked at the other crewman and then back at Dahl. “Four days,” she said. “We transferred in from the Honsu.”

“No away teams yet,” Dahl said.

“No, sir,” she said.

Dahl nodded. “A piece of advice for you.” He pointed back at Collins and Trin. “When they suddenly go for coffee, that’s a very good time for you to do an inventory on the storage room. Both of you. I don’t think those two were going to bother to tell you that. I don’t think they’re going to bother to tell that to anyone who works in this lab ever again. So I’m telling you. Watch them. Don’t let them sell you out.”

Dahl turned and walked out, leaving two very confused crewmen and two very pissed-off officers.

* * *

“Slow down, Andy,” Duvall said, moving faster herself to keep up. “You just got out of sick bay.”

Dahl snorted and stomped down the corridor. Duvall came up even to him.

“You think she got you assigned to the bridge to get back at you for your lab mates,” she said.

“No,” Dahl said. “She got me assigned to the bridge because when she had to assign Jake and Fiona, it rubbed her face in it.”

“In it?” Duvall said. “In what?”

Dahl glanced at Duvall. “That she’s afraid,” he said. “Everyone on this entire ship is afraid, Maia. They hide and they disappear and they find ways to not think about how much time they spend hiding. And then comes the moment when they can’t hide and they have to face themselves. And they hate that. That’s why Collins assigned me to the bridge. Because otherwise every time she looked at me she’d be reminded that she’s a coward.” He sped up again.

“Where are you going?” Duvall asked.

“Leave me alone, Maia,” Dahl said. Duvall stopped in her tracks. Dahl left her behind.

In fact Dahl had no idea where he was going; he was burning off frustration and anger, and being on the move was the closest thing the jam-packed Intrepid offered to being alone.

This was why, when the crew presence finally thinned and Dahl felt the fatigue his disused muscles had been trying to alert him about, he was surprised to find himself outside the cargo tunnel door closest to Jenkins’ secret hideaway.

He stood outside the door for a long minute, remembering the plan to sneak up on Jenkins as a team and find out what he knew.

“Fuck it,” he said. He smacked the access panel to open the corridor door.

A yeti was standing directly on the other side. It grabbed him and pulled him into the corridor. Dahl yelled in surprise but was too weak to resist. He stumbled into the corridor. The yeti, whom Dahl now recognized as Jenkins, closed the door behind them.

“Stop yelling,” Jenkins said, and stuck a finger in his ear, twisting it. “Jesus, that’s annoying.”

Dahl looked at the closed door and then back at Jenkins. “How did you do that?” he asked. “How did you know?”

“Because I am a student of the human condition,” Jenkins said. “And as humans go, you’re pretty predictable. And because I have you under constant surveillance through your phone, you dumbass.”

“So you know—”

“About your overly complicated plan to sneak up on me, yes,” Jenkins said. “Your friend Finn gets partial credit for the cart ID thing. What he doesn’t know is that when decommissioned cart IDs get scanned, I get an immediate alert. He’s not the first person to think of that to access these corridors. And you’re not the first person to try to find me.”

“I’m not,” Dahl said.

Jenkins snapped his fingers, as if to focus Dahl’s attention. “What did I just say? Redundant conversation isn’t going to do us any good.”

“Sorry,” Dahl said. “Let me try again. Others have tried to find you and failed.”

“That’s right,” Jenkins said. “I don’t want to be found, and those who use my services don’t want me to be found either. Between us we managed to avoid anyone I don’t want to see.”

“So you want to see me,” Dahl said, carefully.

“It’s more accurate to say you want to see me, and I’m