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| SEASON 2: EPISODE 1: "MURDER, MADNESS AND OLD GHOSTS." |
19. THE CORPSE IN THE CUPBOARD.
Soon after Peter returned to the Thor and relieved Jones of the bridge command, the Captain headed for Station Seven, passing Frankie and Sunny in the service corridor - having just removed their surface suits, he nodded to Frankie; "Curry I think." and made his way to the suit room.
On the surface, he approached the dark square block with some trepidation; not another bloody dead body from the past he thought - the Thor's morgue was getting more use than a local Undertakers, he sighed and jabbed the opening sequence into the external door control. Marcus and Eve helped him out of the surface suit and Marcus muttered; "This way skipper, it's in the old crew quarters which haven't been used for years."
Jones followed Marcus and Eve down the softly lighted corridor in silence. He could see Tom and Lilly standing by a half opened store room door, they both smiled and Lilly waved her torch; “In here Captain.” She pointed her lamp towards the door. “It’s in quite a state; I don’t want to see it again.”
Jones tapped her on the shoulder and nodded; “Go and get Troy to bring a body bag, we’ll transfer the remains to the Thor’s morgue.” Jones squeezed through the doorway and immediately noticed the plates that had been wielded over the doorway, lying to one side. Then he saw the corpse, face down on the floor – Lilly was right, it appears to have decomposed, but had a curious appearance, like it had been mummified.
“The storm broke through that vent and almost pulled a plate from the door – that’s how we saw the handle and knew there was a door hidden behind it. “ The Chief pointed to the rear wall, where Jones could see the repairs carried out by the crew. The wall had been shored up with steel plates and beams.
“That’s a good job Chief.” Jones nodded his appreciation, turning back to the dead body.
“I think he’s been dead about forty years. The Mediscan said a white male aged about seventeen.” [that's about 30 in Earth years] Eve gently turned the corpses’ shoulder a little, revealing his name tag: “Engineering Specialist ROLLO THAMES.” She noticed a broken red crayon, lying to one side.
“That was some fucking turn up, the infamous Rollo Thames – or what’s left of him.” The Chief grunted and pointed to the dead man’s back and shoulders, adding; “Three deep wounds. Eve thinks they were made by an axe.” There was silence for a few seconds as Jones considered the Chief’s words; if this body was really the supposed mad axe murder of Station seven, then it means the sole survivor fooled everyone back then – and played that gross masquerade for almost thirty years.
Jones sighed and looked about the grim little room; it contained a weak ceiling lamp which gave very little light and three shelves which were bare of goods. Then, in the far corner, something caught Jones’s eye as his torch passed over it.
“What’s that?” He motioned to the shiny object and Eve picked it up. Placed in her open palm, she held it out to the others. It was a very old fashioned Crew Badge; “CAROLINE PALMER.” Jones stated and took it from Eve, pushing it into his pocket. “That type of badge hasn’t been worn for almost a century.” He added softly, and then, removing it again, studied it closely.
In the bright light of his torch, everyone could see that the pin had fragments of grey cloth still attached. Eve pushed back her hair and with some emotion in her voice; “It must have been ripped off, who was she and what the hell happened here?”
Tom held up his PA and said; "She's not on the crew list, all the other victims were known and accounted for, she’s wasn’t one of them.” He started to tap at his PA adding; "I'll check the name.”
“What’s the story Chief?” Jones shone his torch upon the dishevelled remains of Rollo Thames, a man history had confined to the annuals of gruesome murder and depraved insanity; “If it wasn’t him, then it could only have been the young Ensign, logic dictates that. Sweet Mars, what a bloody turn up!”
“Bugger, hit me with a shit stick!” Tom exclaimed, then looking around added; “Caroline Palmer was the Medical Officer here at Station Seven some ninety years ago. She simply vanished one night, never seen or heard of again and if that’s not enough, her Military File is still Classified to this day!”
The little group exchanged glances and Jones held up a hand; “OK, but we’ll concern ourselves with this mess for now. “ He pushed the name badge back into his pocket; “What’s the story about the storm, Troy going missing and this poor sod?” Jones needed answers, so the Chief recounted the crew’s time sheltering in Weather Station 7(S):
“Lilly was first to mention Troy’s strange behaviour, she noticed that he kept laughing to himself and just wandering off, sometimes walking away in the middle of a conversation. She reported it to Eve and they went to find him. Doc wanted to give him the once over, make sure he was OK.”
Eve nodded; “You can imagine I was quite concerned about his behaviour. Lilly said, he had told her that he had seen things around the station. Strange lights and noises that made him afraid, he seemed upset, and so we went to find him.”
The Chief continued;
“That was the first problem; we simply couldn’t locate the daft bugger! We split into three groups of two and searched everywhere and found nothing. The radio was down and the storm was on us. Then problem two appeared; a breach in an old vent, the storm had got it. So Tom, me and Pete suited up and located the trouble. It took a couple of hours to shore everything up and return pressure to the corridor. No one noticed that a wall plate had come lose or the handle now revealed. When we returned to the Control room, Troy still hadn’t been found so the search continued. Then we found him, which was not a big surprise but where we found him was- the very corridor we had worked in!” Tom and the Doc found him against the wall we had repaired, sitting with his legs drawn up and whispering about seeing people about the place that weren’t any of us. He claimed that a woman had walked through a wall in front of him, pointing to the wall opposite. That’s when Tom noticed the loose wall plate and the door handle.”
“I gave him a mild sedative and with Kazza’s help took him to the medical bay. Soon as I pulled the sweet bag from his hand and noticed the odd colour the mints had become, I pretty much knew what had happened. The MediScan confirmed my diagnosis; the bloody mints were laced with Lysergic acid diethylamide, better known in days gone by as ‘LSD’ – the daft twat was high as kite!” Eve managed a small smile and continued; “I gave him something to counter the effects and a couple of hours later he was normal again – well normal as Troy can be.”
“Apparently Troy purchased the mints from a street vendor in the Wallace Monroe district, Rossington’s HQ for the recreational drug industry and didn’t realise that the nice old man selling sweets was a known drug peddler. Little wonder he was seeing things!” Tom allowed himself a small chuckle; “When Troy asked for his special mints, the old man probably thought he was a new customer and gave him some very special mints.”
Even Jones had to smile at that one. But then he looked back at the remains; “Get this cleaned up and I want the station sealed and everyone back on the Thor.” That’s when Jones noticed Troy in the doorway, clutching a body bag with a very concerned expression – Lilly was behind him, deliberately not looking into the grim room.
“Sorry Captain, I thought they were just mints, I didn’t know they were spiked with STD, honestly.” He looked quite down trodden and was surprised when everyone started to laugh. Eve sucked breath through her teeth and resisted the fit of giggles that were desperately trying to escape; “It’s ‘LSD’ you twat, ‘STD’ means sexually transmitted disease.”
Jones shook his head and fought really hard not to laugh out loud; “OK Troy, no real harm done, I’ll see you on the rig and we’ll put this little incident to bed.” The Chief took hold of the body bag and motioned to Tom; “Come on Tom, let’s get this poor sod to the morgue.”
Jones and Eve watched the removal of the very, very late Rollo Thames with some sadness; they both knew that the message Jones would send to Military High Command would make one family very happy and relieved, the other: sad and heartbroken.
As the pair walked into the corridor, Eve gripped Jones’s arm and spoke barely above a whisper; “Troy said a woman walked through the same wall, where we found that hidden door. Then inside, we find the crew-badge of a woman who disappeared nearly fifty years before the murders even took place – that’s some coincidence don’t you think?”
Jones nodded; “Let’s deal with poor old Rollo first, then we’ll have a dig at finding what happened to Caroline Palmer and why her file is still classified.” They reached the corridors internal pressure door and stepped through; Jones operated the closure switch and watched the solid grey slab slide quietly across the opening. Eve stopped in her tracks and breathed quite deep a couple of times, Jones could see a strange expression on her face; “Can you smell that?” She asked a puzzled Jones who took a couple of deep breaths himself. “Only your perfume, smells like flowers, what’s it called?”
20. PAREIDOLIA.
Tom had been very busy digging into the circumstances of the murders some forty years previously; “You can imagine there’s tons of stuff about these killings, books, films and documentary’s all over the MSN. The sole survivor Ensign Conway Hallman was just eleven [almost 20 by Earth years] at the time of the murders and this was his first posting. He stuck to his story about Rollo Thames until the day he died – it never altered, he must have been a fantastic liar because he recounted the details years later and they were identical to the first telling. Quite incredible in its self that. Liars normally always trip themselves up because they can’t remember the exact details of the lie. But he obviously did.”
MSN is the abbreviation for ‘Mars Social Network’ – equivalent to the ‘WWW’ of Earths Internet.
WAS.
Lilly nodded her agreement; “He died about six years ago and he stuck to his story right up to the end, recounting the same details whenever asked.”
“Whoever sealed up that small cupboard did a very professional job: it took a storm to reveal it!” The Chief admired the workmanship of the young mass murderer. “But then he had six days to get it right before the rescue forces turned up from Shackleton.” He added with a grin.
Tom continued; “He was quite a celebrity at the time, the so called hero of the Ice-Shelf. He wrote a bestselling book about it and had a bit part in the first film produced on the story. Young Conway bought his parents and younger brother a small farm near New Paris out the proceeds. As far as I know, his brother’s family still resides there. He never had any children but from social media reports at the time, lots of girlfriends. Quite a playboy by all accounts.”
“Some fucking playboy.” Grunted the Chief; "He liked to play real bloody games alright."
Tom nodded; "Whereas, Rollo Thames fitted the bill for a mass murderer, his military records revealed that he had previous convictions for assault as a teenager. His partner had left him, gaining custody of his children, claiming he was violent and the Chief Medical Officer’s file detailed he had received treatment for depression – serious depression. He also had been referred to an ‘anger management’ specialist. The perfect fall-guy for this crime by any stretch of the imagination, he wasn’t around to argue and for the authorities, it tied the whole terrible episode up in neat ribbons.” Tom finished speaking and sat down, sipping coffee and glancing at his PA.
“I still don’t understand how Conway never revealed his true self over all those years, he never made one little slip up and was a model citizen until his death. Yet he brutally axed to death eight of his colleagues for no apparent reason and then basically resumed his life. It doesn’t make any real sense.” Eve folded her arms and nodded at Jones; “It doesn’t make any real sense.” She repeated.
“I think true psychopaths don’t make sense to sane people.” Jones spoke quietly and looked at the control room clock; “Let’s head back to the Thor.” At the captain’s command, the little group began to disperse, collecting equipment and checking survival suits.
The second group back to the Thor was the Chief, Tom, Bella and the Doc. Captain Jones remained in the quiet Control room, now suited up and waiting for Kazza, Troy and Lilly to join him. He looked about the room and checked some of the instruments again – everything was operating to specification. But he felt ill at ease, something about Station Seven made his skin crawl, so many deaths and now the disappearance of the young Medical Officer nearly a century ago. He touched the old crew badge through the skin of his surface suit and sighed; “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Me too, I’ll be glad to see her on our rear cameras.” Kazza laughed, standing in the door way, suited up and holding his helmet. Jones nodded and smiled; “Let’s go Kazza. Frankie is knocking up curry!”
“That’ll make the Doc happy; she says we eat far too much curry.” Troy peered over Kazza's shoulder and fitted his helmet in place. “Where’s Lilly?” He added before sliding the visor down.
On cue, Lilly appeared fully suited and the foursome made their way back to the Thor across the silent ice – the storm had left the ice-shelf with an eerie quietness, Mars was rarely peaceful and all four commented on the stillness. Jones glanced back at the dark monolith that was station seven and the control room window caught his eye; the lights were dimming to switch off and just for an instant, he thought he saw a shape, a figure of someone. He stopped in his tracks and called up the Thor; “Peter, are all the crew back except us?” Everyone in the small group was now looking at the station, but the control room was in total darkness.
Peter confirmed that the crew was all present – except for the captain’s party of course. As Jones turned to continue towards the rig, he caught the look on Lilly’s face; she mouthed some words he couldn’t make out and her face showed bewilderment. He patted her shoulder and pointed to the Thor and the group returned without further comments.
Jones sat on his chair and watched the station disappearing on the rear cameras, he sipped some cold water and read a dispatch from the convoy; they still had nothing to show for all their efforts and his report to Military High Command had caused some uproar. To quote the Chief’s well used phrase: ‘the shit had hit the fan.’
Leon was in the primary pilot’s seat, reading instruments and checking the scope, Peter was refilling his coffee cup, so Lilly dropped into his vacant seat and leaned forward to Jones and spoke quietly; “Captain, just as the lights extinguished, I thought I saw someone in the control room. I know you saw it too because why else would you ask about the crew?” Lilly sipped her coffee and appeared quite nervous. Jones smiled at her and said simply; “Pareidolia Lilly, simple as that I think.”
“OK captain, but can two people have it at the same time?” She asked, then seeing Peter return, left the seat and sat back at the communications desk. She glanced towards Jones with some concern still on her face, and then her attention was taken by incoming messages. The internal phone by Jones buzzed; it was the Medical Suite; “Hi Doc.” He answered and after a few seconds placed the receiver down and sat thoughtfully, hand on chin, then rose up telling Peter to take over, he was heading for the medical bay to see Eve and Tom.
In the quiet of the medical bay, they gathered about the remains of Rollo Thames, saying nothing until the Chief joined them. Eve slid the body tray back into its refrigeration unit and asked Tom; “Should I start first?” Tom nodded, and Jones could see he was clutching a small blue notebook that was held together with an elastic band.
“I found a couple of things on the body; we should have searched it at the scene. But never mind, the notebook was in his right thigh pocket and this was around his neck.” Eve held up a small silver chain with a crucifix attached.
“A fucking séance? That’s just plain crazy.” The Chief folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief.
“Shriver’s, the Station Manager, was a real odd character; a self confessed pagan and he had dabbled in the occult for years. He was nearly 38 and this was his last tour [that’s almost 70 by Earth years], he had completed over fifteen tours of station 7 over the years. Here’s the cruncher: Conway never mentions the séance, not a word – he always said that the crew was at dinner – nothing about communicating with the dead. Back to this, the last page is interesting, it’s clearly written in a hurry and with a crayon.” Tom held up the open page and read softly; “My God what have we done?”
Tom glanced about and Jones stared at the frantically written words and took a deep breath; "What the hell did they do here that caused a bloody massacre?"
“Evil is evil, on Mars or on Earth.” Eve held her hand over her face and looked back at the morgue door which contained the remains of Rollo Thames; “How could they have got it so wrong?” She whispered.
“This is all very interesting, but it doesn’t alter the facts that someone had to kill those eight people. We know it wasn’t Rollo – that’s a fact – the only other person there, who survived the killing, was Conway. Therefore, it had to be him. Indisputable logic from facts, otherwise we’re slipping into the world of madness.” The Chief spoke clearly and firmly and after a short pause, Jones had to agree with him.
The group broke up and Jones returned to the bridge in deep thought, one part of him agreed with the Chief, but another part whispered disturbing thoughts of old ghosts and supernatural happenings. Eve followed, and sat next to Lilly, who was concentrating on an incoming call.
“Vice-Admiral Kellamann, on the secure line, for you Captain.” Lilly called across to Jones as he eased himself into his chair and sipped the coffee Leon had passed him. “This was going to be an interesting conversation.” Jones muttered to himself and lifted the receiver.
21. GOODBYE TO THE EASTERS.
The dark shapes of the Easter Mountains towered above the Thor as she rolled back into Valley La Mort; ”Nice to be back in the graveyard.” The Chief chuckled, sprawled in the captain’s chair and sipping coffee. Leon checked the scope and could see the flashing dots indicating the presence of the General Westmoreland and the supply rig: the John Garfield.
“About twenty minutes and we re-join the convoy.” Leon checked the seismic gauges and confirmed the Thor was on good ground. The Chief nodded; “Buzz the skipper and let him know, he’s in the Medical room with Tom and Eve.”
“No luck whatsoever, they quoted me the good old hundred year rule. No disclosure of the files content until then, so we have about a decade to wait, “ Tom shuffled the papers about; “The Military File on MO Caroline Palmer remains closed to public scrutiny. I think there’s a connection between her disappearance and those murders.” The disappointment was clear in his voice. Jones took the papers from him and flicked through them; “I can’t see a connection between the two, there’s a gap of nearly fifty years. The only tangible connection is the crew-badge and that could have lain there for years. But you’ve certainly done some digging on this Tom, but I think it’s time to step back and leave it to the past – yes?”
Tom said nothing but nodded his agreement. Eve sipped her flavoured water and placed the glass on the desk, carefully avoiding the sleeping Dallas sprawled across her papers – cat napping; “I have to agree with the skipper, once the body is transferred to the ‘John Garfield’ I think that should be the end of our involvement in this sad story.”
Jones pulled his fingers from his shirt pocket and handed Tom the old crew name badge; “You keep this Tom, you’ve deserve something at least, I think young Caroline would thank you for all you tried to do.”
Tom pushed the little shiny object into the plastic box containing all his research so far; “Thanks skipper, I appreciate that.” He said quietly and wandered from the Medial Suite to the Galley in search of coffee.
The phone buzzed and Eve lifted the receiver, telling Jones that the Thor would re-join the convoy in twenty minutes. She smiled at Jones and sat running her hand over Dallas, who flicked his tail and gave short spluttering purrs. Jones watched her slender fingers caressing the cat’s ears and neck – it was the first time in his life that he was envious of a cat!
He shook the thoughts away and rose to leave. “That was a weird conversation with the Admiral don’t you think?” Eve looked up from stroking Dallas and smiled. Jones sighed and slowly sat back down; "You should not have been eves dropping Eve, that was a confidential call.” Eve grinned; “Then you shouldn’t take it on the bridge, I just happened to be there, chatting to Lilly, who by the way, thought the Admiral sounded quite odd.”
Jones ran his fingers through his hair and had to smile, very little got past the rigs quick and bright Medical Officer. “I thought you and Lilly would pick up on his voice, especially when he stated that they had not found the weapon, and then hesitated, as if he wanted to say they found something else. I think he remembered who he was talking to.” Jones leaned back in the chair and glanced at his PA.
“I best go, we’ll be with the convoy in a few minutes and you had better prepare the body for transfer.” He didn’t relish attending the officers conference call in the galley of the ‘General Westmoreland’, scheduled for two hours time, and there was the awful prospect of bumping into his mad namesake; Dr. Margot-Jones. “I’d sooner wrestle a bear naked.” He muttered to himself, making his way back to the bridge.
The Thor was parked some meters from the supply rig MSV: John Garfield; Jones watched Troy and Tom accompany the big beaver drone towards that rig’s cargo hold. He could see the black bundle laid upon the beaver’s flatbed: the late Rollo Thames was heading home finally, his reputation reinstated and his name cleared – that must give some closure to his remaining family Jones thought.
Then he thought about Ensign Conway Hallman’s descendants, his brothers grandchildren now owned and operated the farm Conway had purchased for his parents; what would they make of this change of circumstances? Would they really care? A wise man had once said: ‘the past best remains buried.’
Jones’s thoughts were interrupted by Peter who reminded him of the conference call; “The Chief is already on his way to the suit room skipper.” Jones nodded and made his way down the service corridor where Lilly and Leon was helping the Chief into his surface suit. “Why me? it should be Peter suffering this, he’s the bloody XO for shit sake!” Jones pulled his jacket off and grabbed his suit from its storage locker; “Because I was told to bring you, you moaning old git!” He grinned at Marcus and the Chief just grunted, “Besides all three of us can’t go – someone has to be on the bridge, that’s military regulations you know.” Jones was laughing as he locked up his helmet; the Chief was in a wonderful mood today, ‘Sunny’ was the only crew member that managed to gain a half-smile off the grizzled old warrior all day.
“Bastards.” The Chief said without any emotion and locked his helmet, following Jones into the external pressure elevator. The pair descended to the surface and made their way to the Battle rig; MSV: The General Westmoreland. Lilly called the captain, informing him that the transfer of Rollo Thames was complete and Dallas had his bed back. Jones chuckled at that, glancing at the Chief and almost catching a smile on his face too.
The galley of the General Westmoorland was impressive; covered with wood appearance panels and various pictures hanging on the walls. Jones and the Chief studied the photographs of past battle rigs as the room filled up with more officers, whilst The conference table was laid with water jugs, glasses and coffee cups and the decorated side table spread with all kinds of buffet goodies. Two deck-hands, resplendent in white steward jackets, offered everyone coffee in delicate little cups and small sweet biscuits.
“How the other half fucking rough it.” The Chief spoke quietly and sipped his coffee, a far superior blend than the normal military issue. Well, it actually tasted like coffee should and Jones didn’t refuse a refill from the smiling Mess-Steward. “Lunch will follow the conference sir, if I may take your orders, this is today’s menu.” He handed Jones and Marcus a printed card; they both glanced at each other and picked the beef curry – they knew it would contain real beef. “How the other half fucking rough it.” Jones whispered and the Chief chuckled, then Vice-Admiral Kellamann called the meeting to order.
Vice- Admiral Kellamann completed a resume of events to date; the weapon had not been recovered, neither had the body of Stanners or the two cyborgs. But thanks were given to Captain Jones and his crew for the recovery of Rollo Thames’s body and getting Station Seven back on line despite category 2 storms. He informed all officers that the convoy would depart for Rossington at 06.00 hrs CST – same battle order as the outbound journey. The Thor would be middle rig again and Jones was happy with that.
As everyone started to relax and savour the thought of lunch, the Vice-Admiral called the table to order again; “I have one last duty to perform before we return to our rigs, today is quite a special one for a fellow officer and we need to acknowledge that fact. Ladies and gentleman, I give you Chief of the Rig Marcus Enders who completes fifteen years service today and can now retire with our due thanks and appreciation.” Everyone started to applaud - except the Chief who fixed a smile upon his face and looked down at the table-cloth. “Now I know why you were such a miserable bugger today.” Jones whispered and asked himself how he missed that in the crew’s files.
The Vice-Admiral continued; “Fifteen years ago Marcus joined the Military straight from college and completed his Engineering apprenticeship aboard that old battle rig: The Lord Nelson. But from there, he attended Fort Benjamin Engineering University, obtaining a ‘with Honours’ degree. He was promoted to Executive Officer of the Military supply rig; The Don Johnson, but I’m afraid, the call of the engine room proved too much and he became Chief of the battle rig; The Fort William. Chief he has stayed since then, and I will confide to all here, turned down various promotions which would mean leaving those precious engines he loves so much. But now his service is complete, I would ask that you raise your glass in thanks.”
The Vice-Admiral stood and raised his glass as did every other officer; "Well done Marcus, the old war horse can now head for pastures new with all our thanks – to Marcus!” Everyone lifted their glass and said; “Marcus!”
Jones glanced down at his PA and read the new message that Eve had just sent him and smiled.
The Chief sat quietly; his head bowed a little and mumbled his thanks. Jones gripped his shoulder: “Why didn’t you tell me?” Marcus looked up, his eyes betraying his sadness; “I didn’t want any fuss.”
Vice-Admiral Kellamann, still standing, sipped his drink and smiled broadly; “That’s unless the old war horse is not quite ready for the paddock yet and may ask for a year’s extension of service – which must be granted by an officer of an Admirals rank, so do you wish to extend Marcus?” He looked directly at the Chief.
Marcus gulped and looked at Jones who whispered; “Yes.” He coughed a couple of times and spoke directly to the Admiral; “May I apply for an extension of service sir?” He glanced about him, no bloody wonder Jones was told to bring him and not Peter – what a fucking turn-up!
The Vice-Admiral eased back into his chair, clasping his hands upon the table and smiled; "You already did Chief, I signed off on your extension this morning and Fleet Command sent their agreement just before this meeting convened – welcome back aboard.”
Everyone started laughing and clapping, Jones noticed the look of relief upon Marcus’s face was palpable and he gripped the Chief’s arm; “All you have to do is pass the medical and your back.” The Chief nodded, a big smile spreading across his face; “What medical skipper?”
“Your re-engagement medical, it’s normally done at the Medical centre in Rossington, but because we stuck here, they have authorised it to be done locally – Eve has already completed it. You passed you silly old bugger.” Jones held up the paper a steward had passed him during the Vice-Admirals speech; "I think you owe Eve some flowers and a thank you – but for Mars sake, don’t drop dead or we’ll all be in the shit!” Jones laughed and lifted his glass; “Welcome back Chief.”
“I would have given anything to see the old buggers face.” Eve folded her arms and looked out the bridge windscreen towards the dark caves, she would be quite happy to see them in the Thor’s rear cameras. Jones smiled; "It's been a good day, but we depart at six in the morning and I’m getting some sleep. I’ll see you both in the morning.” He nodded to Peter who was reading his PA in the primary pilot’s seat.
Jones walked with Eve back to the medical bay and picked up the Chief’s file; "I'll tuck this away until next year.” They both laughed and then Jones noticed the morgue tray was open and Dallas was sprawled over it – sleeping. Eve just shook her head; “I really don’t know how he does that, I had the opening lever locked down and he still manages to open the damn tray.” Jones just smiled and shrugged his shoulders; “Goodnight Eve.”
Jones made his way down the service corridor and passed Tom’s cabin, the door was half open and he could hear voices – speaking low and quietly. He stopped outside; “Goodnight Tom, we move off at six in the morning.” Tom appeared in the doorway, his face expressionless; “Yes thank you captain. We know.”
Jones couldn’t see who was in the cabin, but he assumed it was Leon who shared with Tom. The cabin door slid shut and Jones started to walk away, but he stopped and took a couple of deep breaths: flowers.
Jones thought he could smell flowers; he looked about the corridor and quickly made way to his cabin. There he flicked open his PA and typed carefully; 'Poltergeist.'
W.A.S.
Copyright © 2011-2021 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
Soon after Peter returned to the Thor and relieved Jones of the bridge command, the Captain headed for Station Seven, passing Frankie and Sunny in the service corridor - having just removed their surface suits, he nodded to Frankie; "Curry I think." and made his way to the suit room.
On the surface, he approached the dark square block with some trepidation; not another bloody dead body from the past he thought - the Thor's morgue was getting more use than a local Undertakers, he sighed and jabbed the opening sequence into the external door control. Marcus and Eve helped him out of the surface suit and Marcus muttered; "This way skipper, it's in the old crew quarters which haven't been used for years."
Jones followed Marcus and Eve down the softly lighted corridor in silence. He could see Tom and Lilly standing by a half opened store room door, they both smiled and Lilly waved her torch; “In here Captain.” She pointed her lamp towards the door. “It’s in quite a state; I don’t want to see it again.”
Jones tapped her on the shoulder and nodded; “Go and get Troy to bring a body bag, we’ll transfer the remains to the Thor’s morgue.” Jones squeezed through the doorway and immediately noticed the plates that had been wielded over the doorway, lying to one side. Then he saw the corpse, face down on the floor – Lilly was right, it appears to have decomposed, but had a curious appearance, like it had been mummified.
“The storm broke through that vent and almost pulled a plate from the door – that’s how we saw the handle and knew there was a door hidden behind it. “ The Chief pointed to the rear wall, where Jones could see the repairs carried out by the crew. The wall had been shored up with steel plates and beams.
“That’s a good job Chief.” Jones nodded his appreciation, turning back to the dead body.
“I think he’s been dead about forty years. The Mediscan said a white male aged about seventeen.” [that's about 30 in Earth years] Eve gently turned the corpses’ shoulder a little, revealing his name tag: “Engineering Specialist ROLLO THAMES.” She noticed a broken red crayon, lying to one side.
“That was some fucking turn up, the infamous Rollo Thames – or what’s left of him.” The Chief grunted and pointed to the dead man’s back and shoulders, adding; “Three deep wounds. Eve thinks they were made by an axe.” There was silence for a few seconds as Jones considered the Chief’s words; if this body was really the supposed mad axe murder of Station seven, then it means the sole survivor fooled everyone back then – and played that gross masquerade for almost thirty years.
Jones sighed and looked about the grim little room; it contained a weak ceiling lamp which gave very little light and three shelves which were bare of goods. Then, in the far corner, something caught Jones’s eye as his torch passed over it.
“What’s that?” He motioned to the shiny object and Eve picked it up. Placed in her open palm, she held it out to the others. It was a very old fashioned Crew Badge; “CAROLINE PALMER.” Jones stated and took it from Eve, pushing it into his pocket. “That type of badge hasn’t been worn for almost a century.” He added softly, and then, removing it again, studied it closely.
In the bright light of his torch, everyone could see that the pin had fragments of grey cloth still attached. Eve pushed back her hair and with some emotion in her voice; “It must have been ripped off, who was she and what the hell happened here?”
Tom held up his PA and said; "She's not on the crew list, all the other victims were known and accounted for, she’s wasn’t one of them.” He started to tap at his PA adding; "I'll check the name.”
“What’s the story Chief?” Jones shone his torch upon the dishevelled remains of Rollo Thames, a man history had confined to the annuals of gruesome murder and depraved insanity; “If it wasn’t him, then it could only have been the young Ensign, logic dictates that. Sweet Mars, what a bloody turn up!”
“Bugger, hit me with a shit stick!” Tom exclaimed, then looking around added; “Caroline Palmer was the Medical Officer here at Station Seven some ninety years ago. She simply vanished one night, never seen or heard of again and if that’s not enough, her Military File is still Classified to this day!”
The little group exchanged glances and Jones held up a hand; “OK, but we’ll concern ourselves with this mess for now. “ He pushed the name badge back into his pocket; “What’s the story about the storm, Troy going missing and this poor sod?” Jones needed answers, so the Chief recounted the crew’s time sheltering in Weather Station 7(S):
“Lilly was first to mention Troy’s strange behaviour, she noticed that he kept laughing to himself and just wandering off, sometimes walking away in the middle of a conversation. She reported it to Eve and they went to find him. Doc wanted to give him the once over, make sure he was OK.”
Eve nodded; “You can imagine I was quite concerned about his behaviour. Lilly said, he had told her that he had seen things around the station. Strange lights and noises that made him afraid, he seemed upset, and so we went to find him.”
The Chief continued;
“That was the first problem; we simply couldn’t locate the daft bugger! We split into three groups of two and searched everywhere and found nothing. The radio was down and the storm was on us. Then problem two appeared; a breach in an old vent, the storm had got it. So Tom, me and Pete suited up and located the trouble. It took a couple of hours to shore everything up and return pressure to the corridor. No one noticed that a wall plate had come lose or the handle now revealed. When we returned to the Control room, Troy still hadn’t been found so the search continued. Then we found him, which was not a big surprise but where we found him was- the very corridor we had worked in!” Tom and the Doc found him against the wall we had repaired, sitting with his legs drawn up and whispering about seeing people about the place that weren’t any of us. He claimed that a woman had walked through a wall in front of him, pointing to the wall opposite. That’s when Tom noticed the loose wall plate and the door handle.”
“I gave him a mild sedative and with Kazza’s help took him to the medical bay. Soon as I pulled the sweet bag from his hand and noticed the odd colour the mints had become, I pretty much knew what had happened. The MediScan confirmed my diagnosis; the bloody mints were laced with Lysergic acid diethylamide, better known in days gone by as ‘LSD’ – the daft twat was high as kite!” Eve managed a small smile and continued; “I gave him something to counter the effects and a couple of hours later he was normal again – well normal as Troy can be.”
“Apparently Troy purchased the mints from a street vendor in the Wallace Monroe district, Rossington’s HQ for the recreational drug industry and didn’t realise that the nice old man selling sweets was a known drug peddler. Little wonder he was seeing things!” Tom allowed himself a small chuckle; “When Troy asked for his special mints, the old man probably thought he was a new customer and gave him some very special mints.”
Even Jones had to smile at that one. But then he looked back at the remains; “Get this cleaned up and I want the station sealed and everyone back on the Thor.” That’s when Jones noticed Troy in the doorway, clutching a body bag with a very concerned expression – Lilly was behind him, deliberately not looking into the grim room.
“Sorry Captain, I thought they were just mints, I didn’t know they were spiked with STD, honestly.” He looked quite down trodden and was surprised when everyone started to laugh. Eve sucked breath through her teeth and resisted the fit of giggles that were desperately trying to escape; “It’s ‘LSD’ you twat, ‘STD’ means sexually transmitted disease.”
Jones shook his head and fought really hard not to laugh out loud; “OK Troy, no real harm done, I’ll see you on the rig and we’ll put this little incident to bed.” The Chief took hold of the body bag and motioned to Tom; “Come on Tom, let’s get this poor sod to the morgue.”
Jones and Eve watched the removal of the very, very late Rollo Thames with some sadness; they both knew that the message Jones would send to Military High Command would make one family very happy and relieved, the other: sad and heartbroken.
As the pair walked into the corridor, Eve gripped Jones’s arm and spoke barely above a whisper; “Troy said a woman walked through the same wall, where we found that hidden door. Then inside, we find the crew-badge of a woman who disappeared nearly fifty years before the murders even took place – that’s some coincidence don’t you think?”
Jones nodded; “Let’s deal with poor old Rollo first, then we’ll have a dig at finding what happened to Caroline Palmer and why her file is still classified.” They reached the corridors internal pressure door and stepped through; Jones operated the closure switch and watched the solid grey slab slide quietly across the opening. Eve stopped in her tracks and breathed quite deep a couple of times, Jones could see a strange expression on her face; “Can you smell that?” She asked a puzzled Jones who took a couple of deep breaths himself. “Only your perfume, smells like flowers, what’s it called?”
Eve looked about and whispered closely into the captain’s ear; “I’m not wearing any perfume, and I would certainly not wear a perfume that smelt as old fashioned as Commander Taylor's socks.” They both glanced about and with quite quick steps, made their way to the Station’s control room.
Commander Margret Taylor was the first human to set foot on Mars in the Martian Year 1 or Earth year 2032.
WAS.
20. PAREIDOLIA.
Tom had been very busy digging into the circumstances of the murders some forty years previously; “You can imagine there’s tons of stuff about these killings, books, films and documentary’s all over the MSN. The sole survivor Ensign Conway Hallman was just eleven [almost 20 by Earth years] at the time of the murders and this was his first posting. He stuck to his story about Rollo Thames until the day he died – it never altered, he must have been a fantastic liar because he recounted the details years later and they were identical to the first telling. Quite incredible in its self that. Liars normally always trip themselves up because they can’t remember the exact details of the lie. But he obviously did.”
MSN is the abbreviation for ‘Mars Social Network’ – equivalent to the ‘WWW’ of Earths Internet.
WAS.
Lilly nodded her agreement; “He died about six years ago and he stuck to his story right up to the end, recounting the same details whenever asked.”
“Whoever sealed up that small cupboard did a very professional job: it took a storm to reveal it!” The Chief admired the workmanship of the young mass murderer. “But then he had six days to get it right before the rescue forces turned up from Shackleton.” He added with a grin.
Tom continued; “He was quite a celebrity at the time, the so called hero of the Ice-Shelf. He wrote a bestselling book about it and had a bit part in the first film produced on the story. Young Conway bought his parents and younger brother a small farm near New Paris out the proceeds. As far as I know, his brother’s family still resides there. He never had any children but from social media reports at the time, lots of girlfriends. Quite a playboy by all accounts.”
“Some fucking playboy.” Grunted the Chief; "He liked to play real bloody games alright."
Tom nodded; "Whereas, Rollo Thames fitted the bill for a mass murderer, his military records revealed that he had previous convictions for assault as a teenager. His partner had left him, gaining custody of his children, claiming he was violent and the Chief Medical Officer’s file detailed he had received treatment for depression – serious depression. He also had been referred to an ‘anger management’ specialist. The perfect fall-guy for this crime by any stretch of the imagination, he wasn’t around to argue and for the authorities, it tied the whole terrible episode up in neat ribbons.” Tom finished speaking and sat down, sipping coffee and glancing at his PA.
“I still don’t understand how Conway never revealed his true self over all those years, he never made one little slip up and was a model citizen until his death. Yet he brutally axed to death eight of his colleagues for no apparent reason and then basically resumed his life. It doesn’t make any real sense.” Eve folded her arms and nodded at Jones; “It doesn’t make any real sense.” She repeated.
“I think true psychopaths don’t make sense to sane people.” Jones spoke quietly and looked at the control room clock; “Let’s head back to the Thor.” At the captain’s command, the little group began to disperse, collecting equipment and checking survival suits.
The second group back to the Thor was the Chief, Tom, Bella and the Doc. Captain Jones remained in the quiet Control room, now suited up and waiting for Kazza, Troy and Lilly to join him. He looked about the room and checked some of the instruments again – everything was operating to specification. But he felt ill at ease, something about Station Seven made his skin crawl, so many deaths and now the disappearance of the young Medical Officer nearly a century ago. He touched the old crew badge through the skin of his surface suit and sighed; “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Me too, I’ll be glad to see her on our rear cameras.” Kazza laughed, standing in the door way, suited up and holding his helmet. Jones nodded and smiled; “Let’s go Kazza. Frankie is knocking up curry!”
“That’ll make the Doc happy; she says we eat far too much curry.” Troy peered over Kazza's shoulder and fitted his helmet in place. “Where’s Lilly?” He added before sliding the visor down.
On cue, Lilly appeared fully suited and the foursome made their way back to the Thor across the silent ice – the storm had left the ice-shelf with an eerie quietness, Mars was rarely peaceful and all four commented on the stillness. Jones glanced back at the dark monolith that was station seven and the control room window caught his eye; the lights were dimming to switch off and just for an instant, he thought he saw a shape, a figure of someone. He stopped in his tracks and called up the Thor; “Peter, are all the crew back except us?” Everyone in the small group was now looking at the station, but the control room was in total darkness.
Peter confirmed that the crew was all present – except for the captain’s party of course. As Jones turned to continue towards the rig, he caught the look on Lilly’s face; she mouthed some words he couldn’t make out and her face showed bewilderment. He patted her shoulder and pointed to the Thor and the group returned without further comments.
Jones sat on his chair and watched the station disappearing on the rear cameras, he sipped some cold water and read a dispatch from the convoy; they still had nothing to show for all their efforts and his report to Military High Command had caused some uproar. To quote the Chief’s well used phrase: ‘the shit had hit the fan.’
Leon was in the primary pilot’s seat, reading instruments and checking the scope, Peter was refilling his coffee cup, so Lilly dropped into his vacant seat and leaned forward to Jones and spoke quietly; “Captain, just as the lights extinguished, I thought I saw someone in the control room. I know you saw it too because why else would you ask about the crew?” Lilly sipped her coffee and appeared quite nervous. Jones smiled at her and said simply; “Pareidolia Lilly, simple as that I think.”
“OK captain, but can two people have it at the same time?” She asked, then seeing Peter return, left the seat and sat back at the communications desk. She glanced towards Jones with some concern still on her face, and then her attention was taken by incoming messages. The internal phone by Jones buzzed; it was the Medical Suite; “Hi Doc.” He answered and after a few seconds placed the receiver down and sat thoughtfully, hand on chin, then rose up telling Peter to take over, he was heading for the medical bay to see Eve and Tom.
In the quiet of the medical bay, they gathered about the remains of Rollo Thames, saying nothing until the Chief joined them. Eve slid the body tray back into its refrigeration unit and asked Tom; “Should I start first?” Tom nodded, and Jones could see he was clutching a small blue notebook that was held together with an elastic band.
“I found a couple of things on the body; we should have searched it at the scene. But never mind, the notebook was in his right thigh pocket and this was around his neck.” Eve held up a small silver chain with a crucifix attached.
“According to the reports made at the time, they all failed to mention that Rollo Thames had become a Christian just before he started his final tour of duty at the station. I found that out from a grandson who conducted his own investigation, some years later. Apparently he had given up alcohol and attended services in his local church; he was even in contact with his estranged wife who admitted that finding Jesus had actually changed him for the better. But none of the media at the time, or the authorities, wanted that to go public,
it didn’t quite fit the image of a crazed axe killer.” Tom then held up the fragile notebook and continued; “He kept little notes about the station, the people, and the weather and so on. The date Conway says the murders took place is in here. Rollo reports that the crew had reported strange sounds and sights since they came aboard and so they decided to hold a séance in the galley, thinking it was great entertainment and just fun. He wanted no part of that, he states it’s against God and left them to their own devices. But Shrivers – the station Manager - was into the occult and convinced the rest to play the game. Just as important, is that Rollo states he sent young Conway to the battery room, he was supposed to have cleaned it up earlier, but had forgotten, so he wasn’t present at the séance and the investigation team reported that all the bodies were found in or near the galley.”
“A fucking séance? That’s just plain crazy.” The Chief folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief.
“Shriver’s, the Station Manager, was a real odd character; a self confessed pagan and he had dabbled in the occult for years. He was nearly 38 and this was his last tour [that’s almost 70 by Earth years], he had completed over fifteen tours of station 7 over the years. Here’s the cruncher: Conway never mentions the séance, not a word – he always said that the crew was at dinner – nothing about communicating with the dead. Back to this, the last page is interesting, it’s clearly written in a hurry and with a crayon.” Tom held up the open page and read softly; “My God what have we done?”
Tom glanced about and Jones stared at the frantically written words and took a deep breath; "What the hell did they do here that caused a bloody massacre?"
“Evil is evil, on Mars or on Earth.” Eve held her hand over her face and looked back at the morgue door which contained the remains of Rollo Thames; “How could they have got it so wrong?” She whispered.
“This is all very interesting, but it doesn’t alter the facts that someone had to kill those eight people. We know it wasn’t Rollo – that’s a fact – the only other person there, who survived the killing, was Conway. Therefore, it had to be him. Indisputable logic from facts, otherwise we’re slipping into the world of madness.” The Chief spoke clearly and firmly and after a short pause, Jones had to agree with him.
The group broke up and Jones returned to the bridge in deep thought, one part of him agreed with the Chief, but another part whispered disturbing thoughts of old ghosts and supernatural happenings. Eve followed, and sat next to Lilly, who was concentrating on an incoming call.
“Vice-Admiral Kellamann, on the secure line, for you Captain.” Lilly called across to Jones as he eased himself into his chair and sipped the coffee Leon had passed him. “This was going to be an interesting conversation.” Jones muttered to himself and lifted the receiver.
21. GOODBYE TO THE EASTERS.
The dark shapes of the Easter Mountains towered above the Thor as she rolled back into Valley La Mort; ”Nice to be back in the graveyard.” The Chief chuckled, sprawled in the captain’s chair and sipping coffee. Leon checked the scope and could see the flashing dots indicating the presence of the General Westmoreland and the supply rig: the John Garfield.
“About twenty minutes and we re-join the convoy.” Leon checked the seismic gauges and confirmed the Thor was on good ground. The Chief nodded; “Buzz the skipper and let him know, he’s in the Medical room with Tom and Eve.”
“No luck whatsoever, they quoted me the good old hundred year rule. No disclosure of the files content until then, so we have about a decade to wait, “ Tom shuffled the papers about; “The Military File on MO Caroline Palmer remains closed to public scrutiny. I think there’s a connection between her disappearance and those murders.” The disappointment was clear in his voice. Jones took the papers from him and flicked through them; “I can’t see a connection between the two, there’s a gap of nearly fifty years. The only tangible connection is the crew-badge and that could have lain there for years. But you’ve certainly done some digging on this Tom, but I think it’s time to step back and leave it to the past – yes?”
Tom said nothing but nodded his agreement. Eve sipped her flavoured water and placed the glass on the desk, carefully avoiding the sleeping Dallas sprawled across her papers – cat napping; “I have to agree with the skipper, once the body is transferred to the ‘John Garfield’ I think that should be the end of our involvement in this sad story.”
Jones pulled his fingers from his shirt pocket and handed Tom the old crew name badge; “You keep this Tom, you’ve deserve something at least, I think young Caroline would thank you for all you tried to do.”
Tom pushed the little shiny object into the plastic box containing all his research so far; “Thanks skipper, I appreciate that.” He said quietly and wandered from the Medial Suite to the Galley in search of coffee.
The phone buzzed and Eve lifted the receiver, telling Jones that the Thor would re-join the convoy in twenty minutes. She smiled at Jones and sat running her hand over Dallas, who flicked his tail and gave short spluttering purrs. Jones watched her slender fingers caressing the cat’s ears and neck – it was the first time in his life that he was envious of a cat!
He shook the thoughts away and rose to leave. “That was a weird conversation with the Admiral don’t you think?” Eve looked up from stroking Dallas and smiled. Jones sighed and slowly sat back down; "You should not have been eves dropping Eve, that was a confidential call.” Eve grinned; “Then you shouldn’t take it on the bridge, I just happened to be there, chatting to Lilly, who by the way, thought the Admiral sounded quite odd.”
Jones ran his fingers through his hair and had to smile, very little got past the rigs quick and bright Medical Officer. “I thought you and Lilly would pick up on his voice, especially when he stated that they had not found the weapon, and then hesitated, as if he wanted to say they found something else. I think he remembered who he was talking to.” Jones leaned back in the chair and glanced at his PA.
“I best go, we’ll be with the convoy in a few minutes and you had better prepare the body for transfer.” He didn’t relish attending the officers conference call in the galley of the ‘General Westmoreland’, scheduled for two hours time, and there was the awful prospect of bumping into his mad namesake; Dr. Margot-Jones. “I’d sooner wrestle a bear naked.” He muttered to himself, making his way back to the bridge.
The Thor was parked some meters from the supply rig MSV: John Garfield; Jones watched Troy and Tom accompany the big beaver drone towards that rig’s cargo hold. He could see the black bundle laid upon the beaver’s flatbed: the late Rollo Thames was heading home finally, his reputation reinstated and his name cleared – that must give some closure to his remaining family Jones thought.
Then he thought about Ensign Conway Hallman’s descendants, his brothers grandchildren now owned and operated the farm Conway had purchased for his parents; what would they make of this change of circumstances? Would they really care? A wise man had once said: ‘the past best remains buried.’
Jones’s thoughts were interrupted by Peter who reminded him of the conference call; “The Chief is already on his way to the suit room skipper.” Jones nodded and made his way down the service corridor where Lilly and Leon was helping the Chief into his surface suit. “Why me? it should be Peter suffering this, he’s the bloody XO for shit sake!” Jones pulled his jacket off and grabbed his suit from its storage locker; “Because I was told to bring you, you moaning old git!” He grinned at Marcus and the Chief just grunted, “Besides all three of us can’t go – someone has to be on the bridge, that’s military regulations you know.” Jones was laughing as he locked up his helmet; the Chief was in a wonderful mood today, ‘Sunny’ was the only crew member that managed to gain a half-smile off the grizzled old warrior all day.
“Bastards.” The Chief said without any emotion and locked his helmet, following Jones into the external pressure elevator. The pair descended to the surface and made their way to the Battle rig; MSV: The General Westmoreland. Lilly called the captain, informing him that the transfer of Rollo Thames was complete and Dallas had his bed back. Jones chuckled at that, glancing at the Chief and almost catching a smile on his face too.
The galley of the General Westmoorland was impressive; covered with wood appearance panels and various pictures hanging on the walls. Jones and the Chief studied the photographs of past battle rigs as the room filled up with more officers, whilst The conference table was laid with water jugs, glasses and coffee cups and the decorated side table spread with all kinds of buffet goodies. Two deck-hands, resplendent in white steward jackets, offered everyone coffee in delicate little cups and small sweet biscuits.
“How the other half fucking rough it.” The Chief spoke quietly and sipped his coffee, a far superior blend than the normal military issue. Well, it actually tasted like coffee should and Jones didn’t refuse a refill from the smiling Mess-Steward. “Lunch will follow the conference sir, if I may take your orders, this is today’s menu.” He handed Jones and Marcus a printed card; they both glanced at each other and picked the beef curry – they knew it would contain real beef. “How the other half fucking rough it.” Jones whispered and the Chief chuckled, then Vice-Admiral Kellamann called the meeting to order.
Vice- Admiral Kellamann completed a resume of events to date; the weapon had not been recovered, neither had the body of Stanners or the two cyborgs. But thanks were given to Captain Jones and his crew for the recovery of Rollo Thames’s body and getting Station Seven back on line despite category 2 storms. He informed all officers that the convoy would depart for Rossington at 06.00 hrs CST – same battle order as the outbound journey. The Thor would be middle rig again and Jones was happy with that.
As everyone started to relax and savour the thought of lunch, the Vice-Admiral called the table to order again; “I have one last duty to perform before we return to our rigs, today is quite a special one for a fellow officer and we need to acknowledge that fact. Ladies and gentleman, I give you Chief of the Rig Marcus Enders who completes fifteen years service today and can now retire with our due thanks and appreciation.” Everyone started to applaud - except the Chief who fixed a smile upon his face and looked down at the table-cloth. “Now I know why you were such a miserable bugger today.” Jones whispered and asked himself how he missed that in the crew’s files.
The Vice-Admiral continued; “Fifteen years ago Marcus joined the Military straight from college and completed his Engineering apprenticeship aboard that old battle rig: The Lord Nelson. But from there, he attended Fort Benjamin Engineering University, obtaining a ‘with Honours’ degree. He was promoted to Executive Officer of the Military supply rig; The Don Johnson, but I’m afraid, the call of the engine room proved too much and he became Chief of the battle rig; The Fort William. Chief he has stayed since then, and I will confide to all here, turned down various promotions which would mean leaving those precious engines he loves so much. But now his service is complete, I would ask that you raise your glass in thanks.”
The Vice-Admiral stood and raised his glass as did every other officer; "Well done Marcus, the old war horse can now head for pastures new with all our thanks – to Marcus!” Everyone lifted their glass and said; “Marcus!”
Jones glanced down at his PA and read the new message that Eve had just sent him and smiled.
The Chief sat quietly; his head bowed a little and mumbled his thanks. Jones gripped his shoulder: “Why didn’t you tell me?” Marcus looked up, his eyes betraying his sadness; “I didn’t want any fuss.”
Vice-Admiral Kellamann, still standing, sipped his drink and smiled broadly; “That’s unless the old war horse is not quite ready for the paddock yet and may ask for a year’s extension of service – which must be granted by an officer of an Admirals rank, so do you wish to extend Marcus?” He looked directly at the Chief.
Marcus gulped and looked at Jones who whispered; “Yes.” He coughed a couple of times and spoke directly to the Admiral; “May I apply for an extension of service sir?” He glanced about him, no bloody wonder Jones was told to bring him and not Peter – what a fucking turn-up!
The Vice-Admiral eased back into his chair, clasping his hands upon the table and smiled; "You already did Chief, I signed off on your extension this morning and Fleet Command sent their agreement just before this meeting convened – welcome back aboard.”
Everyone started laughing and clapping, Jones noticed the look of relief upon Marcus’s face was palpable and he gripped the Chief’s arm; “All you have to do is pass the medical and your back.” The Chief nodded, a big smile spreading across his face; “What medical skipper?”
“Your re-engagement medical, it’s normally done at the Medical centre in Rossington, but because we stuck here, they have authorised it to be done locally – Eve has already completed it. You passed you silly old bugger.” Jones held up the paper a steward had passed him during the Vice-Admirals speech; "I think you owe Eve some flowers and a thank you – but for Mars sake, don’t drop dead or we’ll all be in the shit!” Jones laughed and lifted his glass; “Welcome back Chief.”
“I would have given anything to see the old buggers face.” Eve folded her arms and looked out the bridge windscreen towards the dark caves, she would be quite happy to see them in the Thor’s rear cameras. Jones smiled; "It's been a good day, but we depart at six in the morning and I’m getting some sleep. I’ll see you both in the morning.” He nodded to Peter who was reading his PA in the primary pilot’s seat.
Jones walked with Eve back to the medical bay and picked up the Chief’s file; "I'll tuck this away until next year.” They both laughed and then Jones noticed the morgue tray was open and Dallas was sprawled over it – sleeping. Eve just shook her head; “I really don’t know how he does that, I had the opening lever locked down and he still manages to open the damn tray.” Jones just smiled and shrugged his shoulders; “Goodnight Eve.”
Jones made his way down the service corridor and passed Tom’s cabin, the door was half open and he could hear voices – speaking low and quietly. He stopped outside; “Goodnight Tom, we move off at six in the morning.” Tom appeared in the doorway, his face expressionless; “Yes thank you captain. We know.”
Jones couldn’t see who was in the cabin, but he assumed it was Leon who shared with Tom. The cabin door slid shut and Jones started to walk away, but he stopped and took a couple of deep breaths: flowers.
Jones thought he could smell flowers; he looked about the corridor and quickly made way to his cabin. There he flicked open his PA and typed carefully; 'Poltergeist.'
 |
| "William Alexander Stephens." |
Copyright © 2011-2021 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
