Three days later everyone gathered in the hall beside the bridge. The crew stood shoulder to shoulder, the stench of nervous sweat and rising paranoia as thick as conductive gel. No one but Officers were permitted to stand inside, which left the rest of us on the outs, hatches closed in our faces, left with bated silence.
Kelly let out a dry cough and a couple crewmembers gave him space. Griffin glanced at me for an instant and turned away. Doc sidled through the crowd and came up beside me. His elbow dug into my ribs. With everyone jammed so close together, I had to be careful. There might be witnesses here, but then again, it might be hard to identify the culprit if I got shanked in a press of bodies. Shit, as hard as Doc’s elbow jabbed into my side it might as well have been a knife.
I leaned against the bulkhead to find a modicum of personal space, furtively sliding the earpiece on. I could see Liberty through the glass from where I was standing, but couldn’t hear her. This moment wasn’t hers. She was just as much a spectator as the rest of us.
Rosaleigh Head, Navigation, looked nervous, her twitching fingers poised over the controls. The Captain was standing directly over her shoulder watching every move. XO’s pensive gaze was fixed on the main display, an image of our ship and inertial trajectory.
“Time?” XO’s voice over the earpiece.
“One minute,” replied the Comm.
Rosaleigh glanced at Liberty, seeking support. Liberty gave a slight nod in reply. I could almost hear the encouraging thought. You can do this. You’ve done this a thousand times. It’s simple.
Time had come to turn the ship, to begin deceleration for the second half of our journey. Might seem a little strange if you weren’t familiar with the process, but this was just as important to our journey as reaching the apex of our velocity. If we didn’t slow, we’d never stop. If we never stopped, we died.
Dour Face squeezed up beside me, pushing Doc ahead. He crossed his arms. “I don’t know why everyone thinks this is such a big deal. We’re just turning around. How about you, hot shot? Why do you think it’s such a spectacle, eh?”
I shrugged. “Tradition? Superstition? Like giving away a penny for a pocket knife, or throwing salt over your shoulder. We do it ’cause we do it. There’s never any real sense to it.”
“Maybe so.” He removed a small black marker from his pocket and began doodling on the wall. I frowned. It was too early to tell what he would make of it. “Grams did always said her prayers about now. The back hill slide. Should we start?”
My eyebrows crinkled. “Why not? But how about silently.”
He nodded and kept drawing. What started as a circle soon had symbols forming around the outside, working their way in. Part of the Brethren’s insignia began to appear in the seemingly random strokes of his marker, the center rotating around an inverse line. He studiously kept it up, details clean. I squinted my eyes and trailed it’s path. The pen’s thickness was the same as on the other drawings, as was its style.
“Steady, Navigation,” the Captain said over the earpiece, drawing me back to the spectacle.
Rosaleigh swallowed and began her countdown from thirty. “Three… Two… One… Mark.” She pressed a couple keys and jets of air hissed from the exterior hull. We watched the main display as our ship slowly rotated, fifteen degrees, twenty degrees, forty five degrees.
Dour Face grunted and stowed his pen. He was dispassionate at the result.
I looked at the image. It was the Brethren’s insignia, though an earlier inception from decades ago, set upon an inverse axis with open palms clasping it in an almost loving embrace. It was two ideas put together by force, yet with a sense of freedom represented at its center. But what was it really? A delusional machination of Dour Face’s subconscious, or a symbol of our hardline enemy, those evil, socialist bastards orbiting Jupiter?
“Hard time the other day,” Dour Face said, leering. He rubbed his deep set eyes and sighed. “So much happened, so many close calls. Could have crammed a hunk of coal up my ass and had an engagement ring after it was done. We’re all getting a little restless and folks have been poking around where they shouldn’t, engaging in questionable activities without regard for military standards.” Several crewmembers pushed against him, but his fixed attention didn’t waver.
Lank Hair snuck up on the other side, making the press of bodies and radiating heat even worse. “Got a few might end up in the brig rather permanently before this is over. Best to get off it and stay in line, proper like, no tampering with the mood of our bonnie ’ol conveyance.”
I swallowed and reached for my tool belt out of reflex. Both of my arms were pinned against my body as the press changed form and drew closer. I was bound in place like a mummy wrapped in limbs.
Lank Hair smiled, cold as ice. “A bit of action went down by the arboretum, lots of bitin’, screamin’, fluids endin’ up all over the place. Might say those involved went a bit feral, been trapped in a cage too long to keep track of what’s expected. I think they might need some tea and a plate of biscuits, a dash of VR to get away for a while. Instead, they opted for something, eh, a little less traditional, or perhaps more so in fact. Something not exactly in the family. Something God would not approve of. Understand?”
The crush of crew squeezed tighter and tighter.
“Hey! Give me some space, alright?” a woman shouted.
“If you weren’t so damn fat I wouldn’t need the space!”
“At least I eat normal food. Your sweat smells like a rotting onion!”
“Still smells better than those ape ropes you got hanging from your jumpsuit. It’s the 2070’s, not the 1960’s, you damn hippy. Shave your fucking pits, woman.”
Kelly spoke up, “Calm down, people, calm down. It’s just a little snug up here, that’s all.”
“We’re all feeling trapped,” Dour Face said, pushing against the crowd. “No sense in squeezing us up more.”
Lank Hair leaned into me, his breath hot on my left ear. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened in the arboretum, would you?”
“I don’t think I get you’re meaning,” I replied, finding it harder to breathe, my heart having swelled so large it reduced my lungs to pancakes. Had there been another fist fight? Or had he witnessed Lib and I during our sexual escapades.
“Sure you do,” Dour Face groaned. “You know all about everything, Goddard. You’ve been everywhere in this ship, know everyone. You got the inside track, it would seem.”
“I keep to myself,” I said, slowly backing off through the press. “Excuse me, Doc. Kelly. Sorry, sir. I need some air.”
A voice came over my earpiece. “Turn complete. Good work, Navigation.” I bolted for the back of the ship where things might be less cramped. I needed to get some air, recycled or not.
As I neared the Cargo Bay events began to thread together in my mind, dots connecting to form lines pointing in one direction. Every single time I’d found damage, or something changed in the ship, I’d discovered a mindless doodle left behind. Not to mention, the drawing on César’s drug baggie looked very much like the artist’s handwriting. My suspicions had been right all along. I knew I never liked him, there was a reason, and I knew he wasn’t alone. But how do I take this to the Captain? Was there enough evidence to say anything? I couldn’t very well take them down by myself. They had stun sticks. I had tools.
My watch vibrated. It was an engine room alarm. Something was terribly wrong. I took off at a dead run, not a person in my way. Every soul was still up front watching our mid-journey pass.
The intercom boomed with the Captain’s voice in prayer: “Oh God, Lord of all the universe, bless us as we make good your righteous wrath and strike down thy enemy. Forgive us our sins as we have made mistakes against you…”