The Darwin Effect (9 page)

“Something’s bothering me about all of this.”

“A lot of things are bothering me about all of this.” She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, for one thing, the name of this mission doesn’t make sense—The Darwin Mission.”

“What about it?”

Cromartie looked at the computer screen. “MAC, why is this mission called the Darwin Mission?”

“I’m sorry. That information is not available to me.”

“MAC, if this mission is called the Darwin Mission, and there are other ships in this fleet, then why is
this
particular ship called the ISF Darwin?”

“I’m sorry. That information—”

“—is not available to you,” Cromartie finished for MAC.

Sanders watched Cromartie. “What are you trying to get at?”

“We’re supposed to be on our way to colonize a planet, but this ship is called the Darwin.”

Sanders shrugged. “So?”

“You know about Charles Darwin, don’t you? I mean, do you remember anything about him?”

“Yeah, I remember that he was a scientist—the father of evolution.”

“Yeah, sort of. He’s given credit a lot of the time for the idea of evolution. But he didn’t make up the idea himself; the idea of species evolving over time had been around for a long time. What Darwin came up with was a
process
for how evolution works: survival of the fittest.”

Sanders nodded and Cromartie looked at the computer screen as if that’s where MAC’s voice was coming from.

“Isn’t that right, MAC?”

“You are correct, Cromartie.”

“Pretty smart for a construction worker,” Sanders said, teasing him.

“I’ve got other interests besides building things,” he told her and returned her smile. “I was taking some science courses in college right out of high school but then—”

“Life happened,” Sanders finished for him.

Cromartie nodded. “Yeah. Life happened. I ended up getting a job on a construction site with my cousin and fell in love with the work. A few years later I saved up some money, got a loan, and started my own business.” Cromartie let his words trail off, sensing that Sanders wasn’t really that interested. “But back to what I was saying: What does survival of the fittest have to do with this mission? What does survival of the fittest have to do with us being pulled out of cryosleep early?”

Sanders sighed in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” She rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling and twirled her finger around the side of her head, gesturing that maybe MAC was crazy as Ward had already said numerous times.

Cromartie thought about his dream for a moment, and the blurry faces of the two men in suits and ties.
We’re a virus that has destroyed its host,
one of them had said. And then Cromartie thought about MAC speaking to him in his dream, telling him to search for the signs, the clues to the answers that were all around him.

He was about to tell Sanders about his dream, but before he could utter a word Abraham rushed onto the bridge. Abraham’s eyes were wild with fear as he shouted at them. “You guys need to come quick!”

They both stood up.

“What is it?” Cromartie asked.

Abraham was already running back towards the archway to the corridor. “Butler’s room!” he called out over his shoulder. “She’s dead!”

C
romartie and Sanders raced after Abraham down the hall. On the way to Butler’s room, they passed Ward who stood in the corridor near the doorway to his room. Rolle waited a little farther down the hall right outside the open door to Abraham’s room. Rolle had an expression of horror and shock on his face as he waited for them, but Ward’s expression was one of smug satisfaction.

“What’s going on here?” Cromartie asked as he passed right in front of Ward who still wore a sly smile on his face.

“I guess Butler couldn’t handle it,” Ward told him.

Sanders had already reached Butler’s room and followed Abraham inside. Cromartie heard a rush of breath from Sanders. “Oh God,” she said from inside the room.

Cromartie locked eyes with Ward for a split second—Ward still smiled at him—and then he rushed inside Butler’s room. It was a bit of a tight fit, but he, Sanders, and Abraham all stood at the foot of Butler’s bed.

Butler was sprawled out on the bed. She was on her back with her arms spread out wide. Both of her wrists were slashed open and bright red blood stained the white bedcovers and her white clothes. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, her mouth wide open.

“Shit,” Sanders muttered.

“Who found her?” Cromartie asked Abraham.

Abraham glanced at the open bedroom doorway, making sure no one was lurking there. Then he looked back at Cromartie. “Ward found her,” he said in a low voice.

Cromartie just nodded. For some reason he already suspected that it was Ward who had found her.

• • •

They all gathered in the dining area. Abraham, Rolle, and Sanders sat at the built-in plastic table. Cromartie leaned against the counter in his usual spot, and Ward paced the floor.

“What are we supposed to do about this?” Ward asked no one in particular.

“I’m sure you’re not too upset about Butler’s death,” Sanders said, staring right at Ward.

Ward stopped pacing and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Sanders. “What are you trying to say?”

“Why don’t you have MAC recalculate how much food we have to survive on now that Butler’s gone?”

“If you’re trying to say something, Sanders, then just spit it out.”

“Come on!” Cromartie yelled before Sanders could make an accusation. “We’re not going to argue right now.”

Ward turned to Cromartie. “Did you just hear what she said to me?” Ward glanced at the others. “What’s wrong with you people? Butler killed herself. She slashed her wrists. Anyone can see that.”

Sanders kept her eyes on Ward—she showed no fear of him. “Yeah. Suicide. She could barely lift a fork to eat with unless someone helped her. She didn’t even seem to know what was going on here. And you think she just decided to kill herself?”

“That lady’s mind was fried!” Ward screamed at Sanders. “She was crazy and she couldn’t handle this. She killed herself. End of story.”

Cromartie stepped into the middle of the room, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “We’ve got other things to discuss right now—like what we’re going to do with her body.” He looked to Abraham and Rolle for help. “Rolle, you’re a doctor …”

“Well,” Rolle said, “we should wrap her body up in something—some kind of plastic if we can find it. We need to clean her room. Disinfect it. Then we should close the door to her room and not go back in there.”

“Where are we going to
put
her body?” Cromartie asked.

Before Rolle could answer, Ward butted in. “Why don’t we just shoot her body out into space? There’s an airlock door on the upper level.”

They all stared at Ward for a moment.

“I’m not doing that,” Cromartie finally said.

“Why not?” Ward asked. “It seems like the best thing to do. We just shove her body inside the airlock and close the door. We push the button, or whatever we’re supposed to do, and shoot her out into space. MAC could tell us how to do it. Then her body is gone and the problem is solved.”

Sanders’ eyes were still focused on Ward like laser beams. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Get rid of the body. Get rid of the evidence.”

“You’d better watch what you’re saying, Sanders,” Ward growled.

“Or what? I’ll be the next one to commit
suicide
?”

Ward stared at Sanders for a second, and then he walked away, shooing her away with a dismissive hand.

Abraham cleared his throat. “I agree with Cromartie; I don’t think the airlock is a good idea, either. I don’t think any of us know how to use it, and if we did something wrong, we could kill all of us.”

“MAC could show us how to use it,” Ward said.

“I thought you said we couldn’t trust MAC,” Sanders said to Ward. “I thought you said MAC was malfunctioning.”

Ward stared at Sanders for a few seconds, but then he shook his head and averted her gaze.

“How do we even know if MAC will let us do something like open the airlock door?” Rolle asked. “I mean it could jeopardize this mission or something.”

Ward looked up at the ceiling. “MAC! Are we allowed to open the airlock door?”

“Yes, Ward,” MAC answered. “That is permitted.”

Cromartie felt a shiver of fear run through his body. He thought of being on the bridge before and looking over the captain’s chair, the buttons, and the computers and display screens all around the bridge. Why would MAC tell them that the captain’s chair and flight controls were off-limits to all of them, but the airlock door was okay to open? Something was wrong with that—something was glaringly wrong—and he just couldn’t see it yet. He was afraid if he didn’t figure it out soon things were going to get much worse.

“The airlock is out of the question,” Abraham said. “It’s too dangerous. We should do what Rolle suggested. He’s the doctor. We’ll find some plastic and wrap up her body and then we’ll store it somewhere.”

A silence hung over them.

“I’ll look for some plastic,” Rolle said and stood up.

Abraham stood up too. “I guess no one else is going to volunteer, so I’ll help with Butler’s body.”

Ward stood by the rounded metal archway that led out into the corridor. “Don’t look at me. I’m not helping. It’s not my fault she offed herself.”

“MAC,” Abraham said, ignoring Ward. “Are there cleaning supplies on the ship?”

“Yes, Abraham. There is a closet just beyond the living quarters. I think you’ll find what you need in there.”

“I think we should put Butler’s body down in the storage rooms,” Cromartie told them.

They all looked at him.

“I can’t think of a better place right now. Can any of you?”

No one answered Cromartie.

R
olle volunteered to clean Butler’s room. He found a synthetic rubber apron, long rubber gloves, and a paper dust mask in the storage closet along with a bucket of cleaning supplies.

Cromartie and Abraham also wore aprons, gloves, and masks as they wrapped Butler’s body up in a sheet of thick clear plastic. They used a roll of clear tape to bind the plastic around her body. It wasn’t a perfect job, but it would have to do.

As Cromartie and Abraham carried Butler’s body out of the room, Rolle balled up the bloody sheets and dumped them into a thick garbage bag, and then he went to work scrubbing the floor and the mattress as best he could.

• • •

Cromartie and Abraham carried Butler’s body down the hall to the stairway that led down to the lower level. The thick plastic that shrouded her body crinkled the whole time as they carried her. At least the stairway down to the lower level was a little wider than the set of metal steps that led up to the upper level.

Abraham struggled with the weight of Butler’s body, breathing heavily behind his mask from the exertion, but he seemed to be intent on getting this job done. Ward would’ve been stronger than Abraham for this job, Cromartie thought, but Ward had already refused to help in any way. But even Cromartie found himself physically struggling with the task of carrying Butler’s body. He was out-of-shape; he was in the worst physical condition that he could ever remember—just one more great side effect from the cryo-sleep, he thought.

Once they got down the stairs to the lower level, Cromartie and Abraham carried Butler’s body through a short hall that opened up to a massive area that was filled with the aisles of storage units that seemed to run the length of the ship. They chose one of the middle aisles and carried her body down to the end of it.

There were some lights on down here at this level, but not too many, and the farther down the aisle they went, the murkier it became.

They laid Butler’s body down gently on the metal floor and stepped back away from her. They pulled the dust masks off of their faces and both of them were breathing hard.

But Abraham was breathing harder than Cromartie, and he rubbed his arms like he was already trying to knead the soreness out of his muscles. “Should we say something now?”

“Like what?”

“Like a prayer or something.”

“Are you religious?” Cromartie asked.

Abraham shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it. But I guess when you’re facing certain death …” He let his words hang in the cold, stale air for a moment, and then he smiled at Cromartie. “There aren’t any atheists in foxholes as they say.”

Cromartie just nodded.

“I heard that expression somewhere,” Abraham said. “Of course I don’t really remember where I heard it …”

“Maybe we should just have a moment of silence for her,” Cromartie suggested. “Like a silent prayer.”

Abraham nodded in agreement and both men bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

A moment later Cromartie touched Abraham’s shoulder. “Let’s get back up there and help Rolle with Butler’s room.”

Cromartie started walking back down the aisle, but he stopped when he realized that Abraham wasn’t following him. He turned back around and saw that Abraham was staring at the wall of storage units like a thought had just occurred to him.

“Abraham?”

The older man didn’t answer; he just looked up at the walls of storage units that towered up to the ceiling on both sides of the aisle. He stepped closer to the wall of storage units to his right. Each storage unit fit together like blocks in a wall, and each unit was covered with a Plexiglas-type material—but the plastic wasn’t clear like the cryochambers were; it had a white film over it so nothing inside could be seen. Abraham tore his rubber gloves off and stuffed them down into the pockets of his pants and then he cupped his hands to the sides of his face and tried to peek through the plastic.

“See anything in there?” Cromartie asked him.

Abraham dropped his hands down from the sides of his face and shook his head. “No.” He looked back at Cromartie. “Every one of these storage units has seeds, plants, or animals in them?”

“That’s what MAC told me.”

“What kind of animals and plants?”

Cromartie swore he saw some kind of hope in Abraham’s eyes. “He didn’t really specify,” he told Abraham.