Redshirts

CHAPTER THREE

Dahl was at his workstation, classifying Theta Orionis XII spores, when Ben Trin’s work tablet pinged. Trin glanced at it, said “I’m going to get some coffee,” and headed out the door.

What’s wrong with my coffee? Dahl wondered, as he went back to his work. In the week since his arrival on the Intrepid, Dahl had, as promised, been tasked with the role of coffee boy. This consisted of keeping the coffee pot in the storage room topped off and getting coffee for his lab mates whenever they rattled their mugs. They weren’t obnoxious about it—they got their own coffee more often than not—but they enjoyed exercising their coffee boy privileges from time to time.

This reminded Dahl that he needed to check on the status of the coffee pot. Cassaway had been the last one to get a cup; Dahl looked up to ask him if it was time for him to start another pot.

He was alone in the lab.

“What the hell?” Dahl said, to himself.

The outside door to the lab slid open and Q’eeng and Captain Abernathy stepped through.

Dahl stood and saluted. “Captain, Commander,” he said.

Q’eeng looked around the laboratory. “Where are your crewmates, Ensign Dahl?” he said.

“Errands,” Dahl said, after a second.

“He’ll do,” Abernathy said, and strode forward purposefully toward Dahl. He held a small vial. “Do you know what this is?” he said.

A small vial, Dahl thought, but did not say. “A xenobiological sample,” he said instead.

“Very good,” Abernathy said, and handed it to him. “As you know, Ensign, we are currently above the planet Merovia, a planet rich with artistic wonders but whose people are superstitiously opposed to medical practices of any sort.” He paused, as if waiting for acknowledgment.

“Of course, sir,” Dahl said, giving what he hoped was the expected prompt.

“Unfortunately, they are also in the throes of a global plague, which is decimating their population,” Q’eeng said. “The Universal Union is concerned that the damage caused by the plague will collapse their entire civilization, throwing the planet into a new dark age from which it will never recover.”

“The government of Merovia has refused all Universal Union medical help,” Abernathy said. “So the Intrepid was secretly assigned to collect samples of the plague and engineer a counter-bacterial which we could release into the wild, burning out the plague.”

Counter-bacterial? Dahl thought. Don’t they mean a vaccine? But before he could ask for clarification, Q’eeng was speaking again.

“We sent a covert two-man away team to collect samples, but in doing so they became infected themselves,” Q’eeng said. “The Merovian Plague has already claimed the life of Ensign Lee.”

“Damn plague liquefied the flesh right off her bones,” Abernathy said, grimly.

“The other Intrepid crew member infected is Lieutenant Kerensky,” Q’eeng said. At this, both Abernathy and Q’eeng looked at Dahl intensely, as if to stress the sheer, abject horror of this Lieutenant Kerensky being infected.

“Oh, no,” Dahl ventured. “Not Kerensky.”

Abernathy nodded. “So you understand the importance of that little vial you have in your hands,” he said. “Use it to find the counter-bacterial. If you can do it, you’ll save Kerensky.”

“And the Merovians,” Dahl said.

“Yes, them too,” Abernathy said. “You have six hours.”

Dahl blinked. “Six hours?”

Abernathy angered at this. “Is there a problem, mister?” he asked.

“It’s not a lot of time,” Dahl said.

“Damn it, man!” Abernathy said. “This is Kerensky we’re talking about! If God could make the universe in six days, surely you can make a counter-bacterial in six hours.”

“I’ll try, sir,” Dahl said.

“Try’s not good enough,” Abernathy said, and clapped Dahl hard on the shoulder. “I need to hear you say that you’ll do it.” He shook Dahl’s shoulder vigorously.

“I’ll do it,” Dahl said.

“Thank you, Ensign Dill,” Abernathy said.

“Dahl, sir,” Dahl said.

“Dahl,” Abernathy said, and then turned to Q’eeng, turning his attention away from Dahl so completely it was as if a switch had been thrown. “Come on, Q’eeng. We need to make a hyperwave call to Admiral Drezner. We’re cutting things close here.” Abernathy strode out into the hallway, purposefully. Q’eeng followed, nodding to Dahl absentmindedly as he followed the captain.

Dahl stood there for a moment, vial in his hand.

“I’m going to say it again,” he said, again to himself. “What the hell?”

The storage room door opened; Cassaway and Mbeke came out of it. “What did they want?” Cassaway asked.

“Checking inventory again?” Dahl asked, mockingly.

“We don’t tell you how to do your job,” Mbeke said.

“So what did they want?” Collins asked, as she briskly walked through the outside door, Trin following, cup of coffee in hand.

Dahl thought hard about yelling at all of them, then stopped and refocused. He held up the vial. “I’m supposed to find a counter-bacterial for this.”

“Counter-bacterial?” Trin asked. “Don’t you mean a vaccine?”

“I’m telling you what they told me,” Dahl said. “And they gave me six hours.”

“Six hours,” Trin said, looking at Collins.

“Right,” Dahl said. “Which, even if I knew what a ‘counter-bacterial’ was, is no time at all. It takes weeks to make a vaccine.”

“Dahl, tell me,” Collins said. “When Q’eeng and Abernathy were here, how were they talking to you?”

“What do you mean?” Dahl asked.

“Did they come in and quickly tell you what you needed?” Collins said. “Or did they go on and on about a bunch of crap you didn’t need to know?”

“They went on a bit, yes,” Dahl said.

“Was the captain particularly dramatic?” Cassaway asked.

“What is ‘particularly dramatic’ in this context?” Dahl asked.

“Like this,” Mbeke said, and then grabbed both of Dahl’s shoulders and shook them. “‘Damn it, man! There is no try! Only do!’”

Dahl set down the vial so it was not accidentally shaken out of his grip. “He said pretty much exactly those words,” he said to Mbeke.

“Well, they’re some of his favorite words,” Mbeke said, letting go.

“I’m not understanding what any of this means,” Dahl said, looking at his lab mates.

“One more question,” Collins said, ignoring Dahl’s complaint. “When they told you that you had to find this counter-bacterial in six hours, did they give you a reason why?”

“Yes,” Dahl said. “They said that was the amount of time they had to save a lieutenant.”

“Which lieutenant?” Collins said.

“Why does it matter?” Dahl asked.

“Answer the question, Ensign,” Collins said, uttering Dahl’s rank for the first time in a week.

“A lieutenant named Kerensky,” Dahl said.

There was a pause at the name.

“That poor bastard,” Mbeke said. “He always gets screwed, doesn’t he.”

Cassaway snorted. “He gets better,” he said, and then looked over to Dahl. “Somebody else died, right?”

“An ensign named Lee was liquefied,” Dahl said.

“See,” Cassaway said, to Mbeke.

“Someone really needs to tell me what’s going on,” Dahl said.

“Time to break out the Box,” Trin said, sipping his coffee again.

“Right,” Collins said, and nodded to Cassaway. “Go get it, Jake.” Cassaway rolled his eyes and went to the storage room.

“At least someone tell me who Lieutenant Kerensky is,” Dahl said.

“He’s part of the bridge crew,” Trin said. “Technically, he’s an astrogator.”

“The captain and Q’eeng said he was part of an away team, collecting biological samples,” Dahl said.

“I’m sure he was,” Trin said.

“Why would they send an astrogator for that?” Dahl said.

“Now you know why I said ‘technically,’” Trin said, and took another sip.

The storage room door slid open and Cassaway emerged with a small, boxy appliance in his hands. He walked it over to the closest free induction pad. The thing powered on.

“What is that?” Dahl asked.

“It’s the Box,” Cassaway said.

“Does it have a formal name?” Dahl asked.

“Probably,” Cassaway said.

Dahl walked over and examined it, opening it and looking inside. “It looks like a microwave oven,” he said.

“It’s not,” Collins said, taking the vial and bringing it to Dahl.

“What is it, then?” Dahl asked, looking at Collins.

“It’s the Box,” Collins said.

“That’s it? ‘The Box’?” Dahl said.

“If it makes you feel better to think it’s an experimental quantum-based computer with advanced inductive artificial intelligence capacity, whose design comes to us from an advanced but extinct race of warrior-engineers, then you can think about it that way,” Collins said.

“Is that actually what it is?” Dahl asked.

“Sure,” Collins said, and handed the vial to Dahl. “Put this in the Box.”

Dahl looked at the vial and took it. “Don’t you want me to prepare the sample?” he asked.

“Normally, yes,” Collins said. “But this is the Box, so you can just put it in there.”

Dahl inserted the vial into the Box, placing it in the center of the ceramic disk at the bottom of the inside space. He closed the Box door and looked at the outside instrument panel, which featured three buttons, one green, one red, one white.

“The green button starts it,” Collins said. “The red button stops it. The white button opens the door.”

“It should be a little more complicated than that,” Dahl said.

“Normally it is,” Collins agreed. “But this is—”

“This is the Box,” Dahl said. “I get that part.”

“Then start it,” Collins said.

Dahl pressed the green button. The Box sprang to life, making a humming sound. On the inside a light came on. Dahl peered inside to see the vial turning as the disk he placed it on was rotated by a carousel.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dahl said, to himself. He looked up at Collins again. “Now what?”

“You said Abernathy and Q’eeng said you had six hours,” Collins said.

“Right,” Dahl said.

“So in about five and a half hours the Box will let you know it has a solution,” Collins said.

“How will it tell me that?” Dahl asked.

“It’ll go ding,” Collins said, and walked off.

Roughly five and a half hours later there was a small, quiet ding, the humming sound emanating from the Box’s carousel engine stopped and the light went off.

“Now what?” Dahl said, staring at the Box, to no one in particular.

“Check your work tablet,” Trin said, not looking up from his own work. He was the only one besides Dahl still in the lab.

Dahl grabbed his work tablet and powered up the screen. On it was a rotating picture of a complex organic molecule and beside that, a long scrolling column of data. Dahl tried to read it.

“It’s giving me gibberish,” he said, after a minute. “Long streaming columns of it.”

“You’re fine,” Trin said. He set down his own work and walked over to Dahl. “Now, listen closely. Here’s what you do next. First, you’re going to take your work tablet to the bridge, where Q’eeng is.”

“Why?” Dahl said. “I could just mail the data to him.”

Trin shook his head. “It’s not how this works.”

“Wh—” Dahl began, but Trin held up his hand.

“Shut up for a minute and just listen, okay?” Trin said. “I know it doesn’t make sense, and it’s stupid, but this is the way it’s got to be done. Take your tablet to Q’eeng. Show him the data on it. And then once he’s looking at it, you say, ‘We got most of it, but the protein coat is giving us a problem.’ Then point to whatever data is scrolling by at the time.”

“‘Protein coat’?” Dahl said.

“It doesn’t have to be the protein coat,” Trin said. “You can say whatever you like. Enzyme transcription errors. RNA replication is buggy. I personally go with protein coat because it’s easy to say. The point is, you need to say everything is almost perfect but one thing still needs to be done. And that’s when you gesture toward the data.”

“What’ll that do?” Dahl asked.

“It will give Q’eeng an excuse to furrow his brow, stare at the data for a minute and then tell you that you’ve overlooked some basic thing, which he will solve,” Trin said. “At which point you have the option of saying something like ‘Of course!’ or ‘Amazing!’ or, if you really want to kiss his ass, ‘We never would have solved that in a million years, Commander Q’eeng.’ He likes that. He won’t acknowledge that he likes it. But he likes it.”

Dahl opened his mouth, but Trin held up his hand again. “Or you can do what the rest of us do, which is to get the hell off the bridge as soon as you possibly can,” Trin said. “Give him the data, point out the one error, let him solve it, get your tablet back and get out of there. Don’t call attention to yourself. Don’t say or do anything clever. Show up, do your job, get out of there. It’s the smartest thing you can do.” Trin walked back over to his work.

“None of this makes the slightest bit of sense,” Dahl said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Trin agreed. “I already told you it didn’t.”

“Are any of you going to bother to explain any of this to me?” Dahl asked.

“Maybe someday,” Trin said, sitting down at his workstation. “But not right now. Right now, you have to race to get that data to the bridge and to Q’eeng. Your six hours is just about up. Hurry.”

Dahl burst out of the Xenobiology Laboratory door and immediately collided with someone else, falling to the ground and dropping his tablet. He picked himself up and looked around for his tablet. It was being held by the person with whom he collided, Finn.

“No one should ever be in that much of a rush,” Finn said.

Dahl snatched back the tablet. “You don’t have someone about to liquefy if you don’t get to the bridge in ten minutes,” Dahl said, heading in the direction of the bridge.

“That’s very dramatic,” Finn said, matching Dahl’s pace.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Dahl asked him.

“I do,” Finn said. “The bridge. I’m delivering a manifest for my boss to Captain Abernathy.”

“Doesn’t anyone just send messages on this ship?” Dahl asked.

“Here on the Intrepid, they like the personal touch,” Finn said.

“Do you think that’s really it?” Dahl asked. He weaved past a clot of crewmen.

“Why do you ask?” Finn said.

Dahl shrugged. “It’s not important,” he said.

“I like this ship,” Finn said. “This is my sixth posting. Every other ship I’ve been on the officers had a stick up their ass about procedure and protocol. This one is so relaxed it’s like being on a cruise ship. Hell, my boss ducks the captain at every possible opportunity.”

Dahl stopped suddenly, forcing Finn to sway to avoid colliding with him a second time. “He ducks the captain,” he said.

“It’s like he’s psychic about it,” Finn said. “One second, he’s there telling a story about a night with a Gordusian ambisexual, and the next he’s off getting coffee. As soon as he steps out of the room, there’s the captain.”

“You’re serious about this,” Dahl said.

“Why do you think I’m the one delivering messages?” Finn said.

Dahl shook his head and started off again. Finn followed.

The bridge was sleek and well-appointed and reminded Dahl of the lobby of some of the nicer skyscrapers he had been to.

“Ensign Dahl,” Chief Science Officer Q’eeng said, spotting him from his workstation. “I see you like cutting it close with your assignments.”

“We worked as fast as we could,” Dahl said. He walked over to Q’eeng and presented the tablet with the scrolling data and the rotating molecule. Q’eeng took it and studied it silently. After a minute, he looked up at Dahl and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, sir,” Dahl said, remembering his line. “We got ninety-nine percent there, but then we had a problem. With, uh, the protein coat.” After a second he pointed to the screen, at the gibberish flying by.

“It’s always the protein coat with your lab, isn’t it,” Q’eeng murmured, perusing the screen again.

“Yes, sir,” Dahl said.

“Next time, remember to more closely examine the relationship between the peptide bonds,” Q’eeng said, and punched his fingers at the tablet. “You’ll find the solution to your problem is staring you right in the face.” He turned the tablet toward Dahl. The rotating molecule had stopped rotating and several of its bonds were now highlighted in blinking red. Nothing had otherwise changed with the molecule.

“That’s amazing, sir,” Dahl said. “I don’t know how we missed it.”

“Yes, well,” Q’eeng said, and then tapped at the screen again. The data flew off Dahl’s tablet and onto Q’eeng’s workstation. “Fortunately we may have just enough time to get this improved solution to the matter synthesizer to save Kerensky.” Q’eeng jabbed the tablet back at Dahl. “Thank you, Ensign, that will be all.”

Dahl opened his mouth, intending to say something more. Q’eeng looked up at him, quizzically. Then the image of Trin popped into Dahl’s brain.

Show up, do your job, get out of there. It’s the smartest thing you can do.

So Dahl nodded and got out of there.

Finn caught up with him outside the bridge a moment later. “Well, that was a complete waste of my time,” Finn said. “I like that.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with this ship,” Dahl said.

“Trust me, there isn’t a damn thing wrong with this ship,” Finn said. “This is your first posting. You lack perspective. Take it from an old pro. This is as good as it gets.”

“I’m not sure you’re a reliable—” Dahl said, and then stopped as a hairy wraith appeared before him and Finn. The wraith glared at them both and then jabbed a finger into Dahl’s chest.

“You,” the wraith said, jabbing the finger deeper. “You just got lucky in there. You don’t know how lucky you were. Listen to me, Dahl. Stay off the bridge. Avoid the Narrative. The next time you’re going to get sucked in for sure. And then it’s all over for you.” The wraith glanced over to Finn. “You too, goldbrick. You’re fodder for sure.”

“Who are you and what medications aren’t you taking?” Finn said.

The wraith sneered at Finn. “Don’t think I’m going to warn either of you again,” he said. “Listen to me or don’t. But if you don’t, you’ll be dead. And then where will you be? Dead, that’s where. It’s up to you now.” The wraith stomped off and took an abrupt turn into a cargo tunnel.

“What the hell was that?” Finn asked. “A yeti?”

Dahl looked back at Finn but didn’t answer. He ran down the corridor and slapped open the access panel to the cargo tunnel.

The corridor was empty.

Finn came up behind Dahl. “Remind me what you were saying about this place,” he said.

“There’s something seriously wrong with this ship,” Dahl repeated.

“Yeah,” Finn said. “I think you might be right.”