Murmansk-13

“Show some damn respect,” Tor’s voice was gruff, he felt his cheeks colour. “Think what Falmendikov went through to get here.”

“Sorry, Captain,” said Mihailov and Tala in concert.

“And put her back,” Tor coughed and tried to calm himself as he walked away. Tiredness had made him soft and he tried to choke back the lump that had developed in his throat. Mihailov’s flash lit up the morgue once more behind him. Tor spun on the spot. “What the fucking hell are you doing?”

Mihailov, wide eyed put his arms in the air. “I thought… for evidence.”

Tor felt all the exhaustion ebb from his body as a foreign sense of fury surged through him. Mihailov took a step back, seeing the fiery look Tor burnt into him as he surged forward, unsure if he was prepared to strike the bigger Bulgarian, a feeling of outer body possession overcame him. Tala’s quiet words disarmed him. “She moved.”

Tor stopped and felt the exhaustion sweep over him anew, his threatening posture slumped. Mihailov had been saved, and distantly Tor was relieved. He’d never struck a crewman and didn’t want to start now. “What?”

“When Sec took that picture. She moved.”

“You probably imagined it Tala. Hell, your eyes are pretty much swollen shut.”

“Captain. I am telling you what I saw.” Tala spoke with a force uncommon for Filipino subordinate.

“Okay. Relax.” Tor needed to dissipate the fractious atmosphere building within the group, not exacerbate it. Everybody was on edge and they still had to find an emergency escape set and get back to the Riyadh. “Mihailov, take another picture.”

Mihailov was still frozen in an apologetic stance, his features etched more by surprise than fear. “You sure, Captain?”

“Just take the fucking picture.”

Four sets of eyes watched as the actinic light washed across the young girls face.

“She flinched.”

“I saw it too.”

Tor thought he’d seen it as well, but the sight was inconceivable a play of instantaneous light and shadow. “Again.”

Tentatively, Mihailov lifted the camera once more and clicked the shutter. The tray shuddered as the girl arched her back. Bright blue eyes shot open, a look of sheer terror and agony twisted pristine features into a rictus grimace. She gasped and the party scattered, the tray clattered to the floor with a metallic crash. The girl, dressed in green scrubs was disgorged onto the cold tiled floor. Her plump body writhed – tangled amid tarpaulin.

Paralyzed by shock, Tor and his crew watched the girl gasp and spasm like a fish out of water for eternal seconds before trying to help. Frantically, Tor pawed at the comms button on his EVA suit and tried to hail the Riyadh, knowing it was useless.

Above the din and unseen, the morgues closed circuit camera began blinking and whirred to life. Surveying the unfolding scene beneath.

Chapter 6

The line opened with a click. The heavily encrypted frequency crackled like old, scratched vinyl. For a moment, the band seemed dead.

“You are awake?” The man’s voice was attenuated, the question less a question than a statement of the obvious.

“Yes. I allowed myself a day to recover.”

“How is the ship?”

“Compromised, life support systems are at or near their limit, stores as well. They will not make it to Reticuulum One for the proof of concept.”

“That was your objective, not mine. The samples, vials and notes are ready for transfer as agreed,” the man replied curtly. “And the crew?”

“In good health, for now. They have sent a scouting party over to the station.”

“That may compromise the delivery.”

“It may provide an opportunity.” 

The line fell silent save for the faint buzz of skipping static, drawing out the moment.

“We have lost Nikolai Falmendikov,” the man said finally.

“That is unfortunate, but not unexpected.”

The man seemed uncomfortable with the concept of losses, he took a moment to digest the ambivalence the news was greeted with. He should be familiar with death after four years.