The Journey Home, Part 2 (Ch 20)
Chapter 20
After the doctor placed the call and went to bed, he kept waiting to be awakened by a general announcement, one that would reverberate throughout the ship. And maybe even trigger a yellow or red alert.
Executive Officer Colonel Gordon, the announcement would say, had suffered a grievous wound as the result of a horrible accident, and he had succumbed to his injuries. Or he had been attacked by an unknown assailant, but with the same results. Either way would be fine. He chuckled. “No worries, indeed.”
He slept fitfully and jerked awake several times during the night, each time imagining the sound of the tone that would precede such an announcement. But each time he was met with silence in the darkened room.
By 6 a.m. the announcement still hadn’t come. The doctor lay awake, his hands on his abdomen atop the covers, and looked at the ceiling.
Had that idiot janitor followed his instructions? Surely he wouldn’t simply ignore the doctor’s order. He had plainly agreed to follow through.
Okay, so assuming he had followed instructions, then what?
Maybe he’d succeeded in his attempt to silence the executive officer but the bridge was keeping it quiet. Maybe to avoid a general panic. That was entirely plausible.
Or maybe the janitor had tried and failed. Or succeeded but been caught. Maybe at this very moment he was in the brig. They might even be questioning him. Not that he could probably tell them much. The guy was practically brainless.
Or, a more pleasing thought, whether he’d failed or succeeded maybe Stanley himself had been killed. The bridge wouldn’t issue a general announcement for the death of a janitor, would they? Especially a janitor who was also an assailant who had tried and possibly succeeded in killing the executive officer?
With either outcome, John Stanley being silenced would be preferable to his having been caught and put in the brig. If he were killed, he couldn’t implicate anyone else.
But this whole situation might also be a blessing in disguise.
Well, except that he hadn’t run those retests. And it was painfully obvious now that he should have done so. He should have run them last night, maybe an hour or two after he’d contacted John Stanley. Then even if the executive officer was alive to receive them, he probably wouldn’t have a chance to discuss them with the CO until this morning.
And either way, whether Stanley had been successful or not but was still alive to talk, the presence of those retest results on the executive officer’s tablet would at least indicate that the good doctor had nothing to do with his demise.
Okay, so he would run the retests first thing this morning and give the executive officer what he at least said he wanted. That would cover that circumstance and provide the doctor with a plausible alibi.
And if the executive officer were still alive and asked why the retests were late, the doctor could simply say he’d gotten busy the day before and had forgotten to run them. That should settle things, at least for a while. And it would give him time to think.
Maybe the XO really did want to learn through the altered retests that Wilson and Schaeffer were mismatches and therefore presumed guilty. After all, those two were expendable, both to the ship’s crew—they were only janitors—and to the doctor, given that they weren’t really part of the team anyway.
Maybe the executive officer and the CO would see that as a quick end to a touchy situation. Maybe even one that would give them ample reason to continue to run DNA tests on everyone else on the ship. It couldn’t hurt to have those they were testing understand the need for the retests.
Then he scowled. What if Stanley had been caught? That he would keep his mouth shut was anything but certain. Not that he could even tell them what day it was, depending on his mental acuity at the time, but he might get lucky.
But if he did talk, and if he did implicate the doctor, they would at least have to investigate. The fact that he’d run the retests and sent them to Colonel Gordon wouldn’t be enough by itself to settle the matter completely.
He got out of bed and went to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he came out, he said, “Call the guard on duty in the brig, please.”
“Brig. Lt. Parker speaking.”
“Parker, this is Dr. Messenger. How many prisoners are currently in the brig?”
“Three, sir. Same as yesterday.”
“No one new?”
“No sir.” The lieutenant hesitated, then said, “Should there be?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Lieutenant. I was only asking.” He paused. “It has to do with the DNA retesting.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
“Messenger out.” He turned away from the wall.
If Stanley wasn’t in the brig, then he hadn’t been caught. Or taken alive.
Or maybe he hadn’t undertaken the mission at all.
But no, that was ridiculous. The colonel was almost certainly dead, and that would at least cripple the investigation. The “practice bombing” would be relegated to second place for at least a while.
Still, no matter the other circumstances, if Stanley was still alive he would have to be silenced.
But whom to send? He tapped his chin with his right forefinger, and as he did, he noticed the digital readout on the wall.
It was almost 7:40. He would have to hurry if he was to be on time for his shift. Not that it mattered very much. He was certain Stanley had done his job. All he had to do was run the tests and send them so they would be on Colonel Gordon’s tablet when anyone checked.
*
In the brig, Lt. Parker thought about the strange call from Dr. Messenger. What could the number of prisoners in the brig have to do with DNA testing? It wasn’t like he had to conduct any further tests himself. And why had he asked whether there were any new prisoners? Everyone on the ship had been invited to board specifically because they would probably never end up in the brig.
Maybe it was nothing, but that was a decision better left to those well above his paygrade.
He made a note on his personal log regarding the call. The note included both the time and the content. At the end of his shift, he would report to Major Hones.
*
Colonel Gordon meant to talk with the CO the next morning. But when he approached her door, it didn’t open.
From behind him, the adjutant said, “Sir, she’s out on an inspection tour of the ship.”
“Ah. No worries. Do you know which section?”
“No sir, she was vague on details. She said she’d be gone most of the morning though. I think she meant to visit Engineering at least and probably Propulsion while she’s there, and then I think she planned to walk through one or more of the FOH decks. If you need to find her in person, I have a feeling she might also stop by Holodeck 3 on FOH3, given recent events.”
“I see.” She hadn’t said anything to him about an inspection tour, so chances were good she didn’t want him along. Probably the adjutant was right about her visiting Engineering and the holodeck on FOH3. Probably she was gathering material before she spoke again with the prisoners in the brig. “Yes, you’re probably right about that holodeck.”
Captain Gregg arched his eyebrows. “Would you like me to contact her, sir?”
“No. It’s nothing that can’t wait. I’ll talk with her this afternoon.” He turned away and walked into his office. When he sat down, he checked his tablet.
There were no new messages.
He frowned. Dr. Messenger should have sent the results from Wilson and Schaeffer’s retests by now.
Had he not had time to run them yet? Or did he realize the whole thing was a trap?
But that wouldn’t matter. Either way, he would have sent the results. If the doctor had played into his trap, the new results on Wilson and Schaeffer would both show up as mismatches. If he hadn’t, they would both show up as they had the first time, clean.
So what could it mean that the doctor hadn’t sent the results of the retests at all? Maybe he should call the good doctor.
Then another thought struck him. A slightly paranoid thought.
The XO smiled, tight-lipped. Maybe the doctor had picked up on his suspicions. And maybe he’d decided there was no need to send the results at all because the XO would never receive them anyway.
He decided to visit the doctor in person.
He glanced at the digital clock. It was 0748. The doctor typically started his day at 8. Perfect.