Sunday 8 – Monday 10 October 2017
Doc wandered through the corridors on his way to the bridge. There was nothing he could do to help rectify whatever problems the Anna Maria was undergoing, so he took his time moving from Med Bay to bridge. He was a doctor after all, not an engineer or a mechanic. As he walked, he pondered what he’d been seconded to do. Traitor wasn’t in his nature, but everyone had their price, and Doc certainly had his.
He smiled at the thought of the money he’d secured for his services. His family would be set up for life once it all came through. It wasn’t a bad payment for a few small injections, and a few small incidences of sabotage.
‘Such a strong word, sabotage,’ he whispered to himself as he turned the corner and stepped on to the bridge. ‘So, what’s going on in here?’
‘Don’t ask, Doc,’ Hammett called out, returning to the bridge with a broad grin across his face.
‘Nuh . . . much worse,’ Hammett replied.
Gabriel followed Hammett back on to the bridge, and sat down next to Constance. Supervising Hammett had been exhausting. He’d been mentally alert for the three hours it took Billy to assess and repair the hull and have a poke around to check for other damage, and now, his head and his eyes throbbed with a migraine, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in four or five years.
‘Looks like I arrived just in time. You don’t look so good, Gabe,’ Doc stated. Gabe nodded, and instantly regretted the action, as the pain heightened.
‘Migraine, Doc. Can you give me something for it?’
‘Sure. You able to make it back to Med Bay with me?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
Doc headed out the way he’d entered, and Gabe gingerly followed. Their journey back to the Med Bay was completed in silence. It took no more than a few minutes, but to Gabe it felt like hours, his head banging away, and lights flashing in front of his eyes.
‘Lay down.’ Doc gestured to the bunk he used when examining patients. He strode over to the locked cabinet where all of the meds were stored, unlocked it, and ferreted around inside, while Gabe lowered himself to the bunk and laid down.
‘You allergic to anything, Gabe?’
‘No, no, not allergic to anything.’ Gabe rested his right arm over his eyes to shield them from the light in the Med Bay.
‘Okay, I’ll be with you in a minute.’ Doc threw a quick glance at Gabe on the bunk. Unobserved by his patient, Doc chose a sister vial to the one he’d administered to Weisz earlier. He drew back the plunger, filling the barrel of the syringe with the liquid from the vial. Gabe would be none the wiser, and in one respect, this injection would indeed rid him of his migraine.
‘Just relax, Gabe. I’m going to give you a shot of painkiller. You’ll need to rest after it, because it’ll knock you for a six. You’re more than welcome to sleep it off here.’ He jabbed the needle into Gabe’s upper arm.
‘Thanks, Doc. I think I’ll take your advice and sleep here, if you’re sure that’s alright.’
‘No problem at all, Gabe. Let’s get you covered up. Lift your legs, and I’ll grab the blanket.’ Doc supported Gabe’s legs with one arm, and as he lifted them above the bed. Doc pulled a blanket free, lowered Gabe’s legs back onto the bed, and covered his patient to his chin.
‘Appreciate it, Doc,’ Gabe whispered.
‘You’re welcome. Rest up.’
As Gabe slept, Doc tapped away on the virtual keyboard of his tablet. He was required to enter information onto a secure site to allow his employer to view the progress he was making in sabotaging the mission to terra-form RK-422. It was a stroke of luck for Doc and his employer that Jericho’s sun had cause such a problem with the Anna Maria. It took any suspicion out of his disposal of the O2 tanks. No one was looking in Doc’s direction. No one suspected that Weisz’s condition was worse than it should have been because he’d been injecting her with poison. And no one suspected that when the shit hit the fan at Jericho’s sun, he’d messed with engine number two before they’d left on the mission. It’s been a bitch of a job, getting close enough to the engine to do damage, but he’d found the right mechanic, a new recruit, to show him around the workings. A kid stupid enough to leave him alone near the engines while the kid took a call from his boss. No one suspected Doc of anything.
* * * * *
Constance and Billy stood face to face on the bridge. He scratched his head, and screwed up his face.
‘It’s against regulations, Commander. One walk outside per twenty-four-hour rotation. I’ve done my walk.’
‘Let me get this straight, Marshall . . . you’re throwing regulations in my face even though you know it’s an absolute necessity that we diagnose the engine problem or we die?’
‘Well, no, I’m not putting it like that. I’m just saying that the union will go ape shit if they find out you’ve made me take a second walk after the three-hour repair of the hull.’ He thought he had Constance over a barrel.
‘Fine. Fuck off and do something constructive,’ she snapped. ‘Hammett and Toller, get up here now,’ she snarled into her radio. A voice amidst the crackling radio waves replied in the affirmative. Billy looked shocked.
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just said the union will –’ Billy whined.
‘Don’t fucking bother. Just fuck off out of my sight.’
‘You can’t seriously be thinking of sending Toller out there, after the fuck up he made?’
Constance didn’t reply. She walked away from Billy, fearing if she didn’t she’d punch him in the face. Not an action becoming of a Commander of any mission.
‘Oh, what the hell,’ she said to herself.
‘What?’ Billy asked. Constance stepped back over to Billy, and punched him square on the jaw, dropping him to the floor.
‘That’s for not fucking off like I told you to.’
. . . To be continued . . .