Distress

By the time Iain gets back to the Prowler, Tasha is suited up and ready to go. Still, the security chief makes sure to double-check the navigators’ seals. It’s customary. Not that he has to tell Tasha that as he delivers a thumbs-up to declare all is good once he’s done.

Tasha nods relieved. After all, this will be her first ever proper boarding while in an enviro-suit. Not her first boarding ever, though. She’s been on a few before when her skills as a navigator have been required. But this will be very different. They have no idea where the crew are or what state they’re in. From the blood smeared on the walls they’ve glimpsed so far it doesn’t look good, but there is no way of knowing for sure.

Iain however wastes no time in delaying their departure as he ushers Tasha out of the still open airlock and into the umbilical.

With each step the auburn haired woman feels more confident of her foot placement, yet cannot quite dispel the awkwardness with which she moves. She hopes it’ll pass but decides not to ask if it will or not. Instead, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other as they trudge from one end of the umbilical to the other.

When they reach the far end, Tasha steps, carefully, over the threshold of the outer airlock and into the Namora. Then suddenly over the comms Tasha hears Francesca confirm, “Aft doors are sealed. Not getting in there anytime soon.”

“Once we’re on the bridge I should be able to release all the internal doors, as long as there hasn’t been any significant systems damage.” Tasha offers in response.

“I’m counting on it Tasha.” Captain Linda Jimenez says from her chair on the bridge. The bridge that is now only occupied by her and the Prowler’s pilot who she then orders, “Ville, I want continuous diagnosis scans of the Namora. And once we have access, interface with the transport vessels onboard systems. I want to know everything before it happens.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Is the swift reply from the blond haired man as his hands glide left, right, up and down over the console before him.

Normally Linda would get Tasha to do such things but as she’s off-ship it falls to the only other member of her crew present. Linda could do it, at least in theory, but she’d much rather have someone better versed in the Prowler’s actual systems initiate things. There is a chance if she did it herself the scans and interface might not go as smoothly. And the last thing Captain Jimenez wants is to create another bump in the road that is this mission. There have already been enough of them and this is in no way going as well as most recoveries tend to. That alone is why Linda doesn’t want to be met with any surprises that are within their grasp, as a crew, to prevent.

Nearly a minute passes before Tasha not only steps over the threshold of the inner airlock door, which is now wedged electronically into an open state, but into the blood smeared corridor beyond.

At the sight Tasha’s stomach flips and then begins to churn. She goes dizzy, momentarily, and feels her balance shift unnaturally. It’s as though Tasha is able to smell the blood. She can’t. That would be impossible because she’s in an enviro-suit and they don’t let anything beyond their layers in. That is irrespective of whether it’s matter or odours.

Iain having watched the sudden shift in the younger woman with auburn hair asks, “You need a minute?”

His tone is warm. He’s playing the older father-figure. He does it sporadically, but when he does his expression softens. It’s not a side the crew often get to see, but it proves that there is more to the man than just his job. Though, as far as any of them know he has no children. If he does they all think he’d make a good, if not occasionally over stern, father that would at times need to lighten up and take things a little less seriously. If he did that in general then maybe he’d engage more in the ship banter and that might benefit him. Whether or not it would no member of the crew can say for sure. Plus, they know he’ll never do it.

Still, he waits patiently until a few moments later Tasha feels the wave of nausea, which had been washing over her, disperse. It occurs only after the navigator-come-hacker has taken a series of deep breathes. To her surprise it does the trick. She didn’t think it would. Though, none of that changes the fact that she feels well and truly out of her depth. After all, she is a member of bridge crew and never considered that she might actually end up walking into a zone of potential hazard. Sure, they warn you about such possibilities at the academy, but Tasha had just never considered that it would happen to her, seeing as the odds are so slim.

But as she shakes herself from her internal thoughts she assures, “I’ll be fine Iain.”

Before the security chief can answer Francesca’s voice booms over the comms system, “Hector and I are heading back toward the bridge.”

It makes sense seeing as there is nothing else the pair can do with at the aft of the vessel with it being sealed like it is.

Iain quickly confirms, “Copy Fran.” His reply is delivered just as he and Tasha begin moving once again.

By his calculations it should only take them a couple minutes to reach the sealed door to the bridge. He doesn’t consider whether that would be passable for Command timings or not. He has long since abandoned dwelling over such things and if the crew of the Prowler think he’s a stern man now then she should have seen him before.

Iain and Tasha reach the sealed pressure door a little over two minutes later. The security chief won’t hold the additional seconds against the auburn haired woman, mentally or otherwise. Instead, he lets her study the still open panel in peace.

Tasha can see exactly why Francesca found the mass contained within so confusing. But now having an up-close view of it she is sure she’ll be able to get round it and so begins, without delay, to work away at tracking and mentally cataloguing what is in front of her.

Part way through her analysis, Francesca and Hector rejoin them. Tasha gives a quick wave at the mention of her name but does in no way turn away from the task at hand. She fears is she does so she might lose her place and have to start all over again. Such a prospect does not hold any interest in the navigator, and it seems the other members of her crew understand as they stand and watch patiently.

With the wires, tracks, lines and connectors catalogued as best as Tasha can manage, she goes to work digging at the guts of the system. It isn’t as far gone as you might think at first glance, and for the most part seems to have been largely unmolested by decades, her guess, worth of incremental upgrades. Many of which likely served little or no purpose in the grand scheme of things, but do, surprisingly, perfectly align with what Command would consider as proper upkeep for a vessel such as this one. That makes the Namora a rarity.

Not that any of that has any effect on Tasha, who after another few minutes, finishes slotting the various wires into the correct connectors and then jumping the tracks and inverting them with the lines so that her archaic hack fires.

A tense few seconds of silence pass before the familiar clunk of a lock disengaging can be heard. The door doesn’t open though. The button will still have to be activated for that. But seeing as its brightly lit when Tasha pushes the panel gently closed, there should be no issue there.

“Excuse me, Tasha.” Iain says sliding in front of her as she takes a couple steps back to allow him and his suit passage. She knows the drill, they all do. Iain will undoubtedly go first. It’s protocol.

“Francesca, stack on me. Hector and Tasha, you both wait here until we confirm it’s secure.” Are the orders Iain issues in the seconds before he slams his open palmed glove against the dull yellow activation button of the door and then waits.

Iain doesn’t have to wait long as the pressure door rolls out of the way and into the bulkhead surprisingly quickly.

With the way now open, the security chief wastes no time in carefully stepping through the gaping maw and into the darkness beyond.

His hand rests on the shock pistol as it sits in the holster on his right hip. He expected to be greeted by flickering lights, but as yet he has been met by nothing, so is forced to pull his weapon and then activate the small torch mounted under its short angular barrel. The cone of light is narrow and extends maybe a couple metres ahead of the pistol in Iain’s hands. He makes sure to hold the weapon with both. An old habit from when he’d wielded larger more capable weapons. A habit that even after all these years he can’t seem to shake, for better or for worse.

He can feel and see Francesca, because of the beam of her own weapons torch, behind him. That gives him some comfort as he delves deeper into the murky black. He doesn’t know what he hopes to find. Part of him says nothing, though he knows that cannot happen. He has to find something, even if it’s only a chair or a bulkhead. To find nothing at all would be more concerning.

Linda and Ville meanwhile watch with baited breath. The darkness is more all-consuming than either would have imagined and to make matters worse it evokes a tension that neither can explain. Linda expects the tension she feels is nothing compared to what Iain and Francesca must be going through, yet it offers a common bond.

Another sixteen seconds pass in silence. After that it’s broken when Francesca announces, “Found a central console.”

Iain stops dead in his tracks. He hadn’t even realised Francesca wasn’t right behind him anymore.

He turns searching for her voice in the darkness then remembers to instead look for her torchlight. He spots it soon after and then carefully moves toward her. His torchlight sweeping back and forth aimed a short distance ahead of his feet. He’s found that to be the most effective use of its limited capabilities and should stop him from tripping over anything immediately at his feet.

Suddenly his torchlight unveils a console. He can also hear Francesca’s breathing, so concludes that he must now be at the central console too. Relief washes over him and he has to admit that the lack of light is helping to disguise the worrisome look that he is convinced is etched into his features. Though, experience has taught him that what he often imagines is carved into his face as an expression is not what others see. He’s never been able to explain that and has often wondered whether his face is capable of showcasing such emotions. He knows it is, but perhaps he has an in-built tendency not to reveal it when he’s on duty. It would explain a lot if that’s true.

However, he’s noticed the smears of blood around the consoles mounting frame. It’s why he does a quick sweep with his torch. He finds nothing else, to his relief.

If he didn’t do that and then got Tasha to do the hack only for her to get a glimpse at some truly horrifying sight he’d never forgive himself. But that isn’t the case and so he relays, “Can you hack this Francesca?”

The response is not immediate as Francesca considers the likelihood. The consideration doesn’t last long and sees her conclude, “Beyond my capabilities, sorry to say.”

The junior security officer actually sounds downbeat about having to admit that. It’s as if she doesn’t believe her presence is warranted. At any other time Iain would take her aside and quiz her on it, but he can’t right now. There are more important things at hand, which is why he announces, “Tasha, we need your assistance.”

As he delivers the line he raises his torch and points it in the direction of the faint light that is managing to spill from the corridors flickering lights and into the bridge. It provides little in the form of illumination, but at least it gives him a point to aim for. Without it he’d have no clue which direction he came from. That’s the problem with being in pitch black darkness; you lose all orientation and sense of direction.

Still, that’s not something the security chief has to contend with right now, which is why he’s pleased to be able to say that his torchlight is aimed at her chest. He won’t aim it toward her face. All that will do is blind, temporarily, the poor woman he needs most of all at this time.

Tasha takes a second but soon begins to hesitantly cross the darkness of the bridge. She’s heading for the white torchlight, the one aimed at her, instead of the one off to her right. She could head for that too, but the one that she assumes is Iain’s gives her a better guide of what lies ahead of her, seeing as it soon dips to illuminate a small section of the deck plating just ahead of her feet.

Suddenly there is a wet crack. Tasha pauses, freezing on the spot. She can’t be sure if anyone else heard it but she certainly did. It sounded wrong to her ears and results in a shudder quickly rippling down her back.

“What is it?” Iain asks not long after.

From that statement alone Tasha concludes that she is the only one that has heard the sound. If the light levels were better she’d look to Francesca or Hector for assurance, but they aren’t and she has no way of seeing either of their faces. It’s why she takes another step. It’s cautiously placed but she doubts those around her will notice as long as she keeps moving. Sure, she could have made the others aware of what she heard but seeing as she is the only one who heard it she sees no reason to draw attention to what could quite easily be a trick of her mind.

When the navigator-come-hacker reaches Iain and Francesca about a minute later, without any further incidents having occurred, she feels relieved. Not that she has any time to dwell on her emotions as Francesca quickly shines her torchlight at the console so Tasha can get a better look. Its old tech, she has to admit. Very in-keeping with what they’ve been faced with thus far on the Namora. No surprise there and so following a short period of further study, after which she believes she’s learned about as much as is possible, she gets to work.

As Tasha works on the hack, Iain decides to check on Hector. He raises the barrel of his shock pistol and directs its meagre beam of light back toward the man who is looming at the edge of the doorway, just beyond the confines of the bridge space.

By all accounts it appears that the medic is fine. He even raises his hand to partially shield his eyes when Iain moves the beam a little higher than intended, partially and momentarily filling Hector’s eyes with brilliantly dazzling white light that forces him to wince in pain reflexively.

The medic says nothing. He doesn’t see a need to. He can tell the upward motion was accidental because as quickly as it happens Iain lowers the beam again and points it back at the medics centre mass.

A couple minutes pass before Tasha announces, “Hacks ready. It looks like the ship still has sufficient power.”

“How can that be?” Hector asks genuinely curious from his position just outside the bridge.

“It was just put in a low-energy state. Doing that starves the systems, which is why they needed some…encouragement.” Tasha finishes explaining just as Francesca asks, “Then can we get this show on the road?”

Francesca is referring to the lights. She’d like to be able to see again and though Iain passes no comment, he agrees whole heartedly.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Tasha apologises as she hits the power-up sequence button on the central console.

At first nothing happens for a few seconds and then the lights flicker, once, before fully illuminating the room around three of the four members of the Prowler’s crew present.

In response all of their faces twist with shock, horror and disgust. It’s the result of the carnage that has been revealed to them now that the lights are on. Even Ville and Linda back on the Prowler grimace and recoil at the sight being broadcast to them through Francesca’s suit cam.

The view is so much worse than the one they’d been faced with in corridor, as not only are the walls smeared with blood but so is the deck. Then to make matters more gruesome there are body parts, severed and bloody, strewn about the whole bridge area. Some sit on chairs at odd angles, while others are skewered upon chains drooped from the overheard ceiling grates.

None of them can see past the gore to take in the fact that the bridge is a bland, uniformed layout of that is square in shape. If they could then they’d notice the four console stations, plus the captain’s seat. The four console stations arranged around the captain’s centrally located seat at equal distance from one another.

Tasha gags. Her stomach having done several flips in the seconds since her eyes have comes to glimpse the harrowing scene around them.

Hector, meanwhile, steps over the threshold and into the bridge. His jaw is almost on the floor. He’s never seen anything like it. Though, he can tell that she is not the result of some accident. This was done on purpose. The severed limbs staged and placed in what he can only guess is some form of ritualistic manner. He cannot fathom why as he turns his head to glance at Francesca.

Her mouth too is agape, her green eyes blinking every so often as though she is still trying to comprehend what exactly it is that she is looking at. She knows what she’s looking at and yet the junior security officer still cannot come to terms with it.

Back on the Prowler, Captain Jimenez and Ville sit dumbfounded, their heads shaking imperceptibly from side to side as they stare unblinking at the slightly grainy footage being beamed back from Francesca’s enviro-suit body cam.

A part of Linda thinks she should order her crew off the Namora immediately and then withdraw to a safe distance. It even pops into her head that perhaps they should scuttle the transport vessel. She knows she can’t. Sensor recordings accumulated by the Prowler are hard stored. They can’t be deleted like personal data can. There is good reason for that, to stop people taking the easy path to completing missions issued to them. Sure, she could order Tasha to hack the systems, but that would only succeed in hanging the punishment for hacking Command systems without authorisation over her head. Linda won’t do that to Tasha, or any other member of her crew. Being sentenced to life on the frigid maximum security planet world of Prism isn’t worth it.

Suddenly, Hector sees something, movement he thinks, out the corner of his eye. At first he doesn’t believe it, and so argues with himself, not that his internal conflict stops his instinctive reaction to turn his head and look.

He finds nothing. His brow furrows as a result. It’s a welcome distraction from the horror back the other direction and yet he could swear something moved. The only people here are the members of the Prowler’s crew and he knows for a fact it was none of them, seeing as he is still the closest to the single doorway and they are all well within his visual cone.

Iain, having noticed Hector’s diverted attention, asks, “What’s wrong Hector?”

“I…I don’t…nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just thought I saw something out the corner of my eye.” Hector relays, his voice hesitant as he stumbles to try and get his words out.

“Nobody else is here, just us.” Francesca claims trying to give Hector assurance that whatever he thought he saw was in his head.

Hector says nothing in response. Instead, his expression morphs into one of doubt seconds before he takes the nine steps necessary for him to join the other three members of his crew at the central console. He no longer feels safe being away from them.

“Tasha, think you can pull the ships records?” Linda says over the comms system. Her voice is steady as she speaks, much to her surprise, and is beamed right into Tasha’s ear. They can all hear the question though. It’s a shared channel. Command doesn’t permit private comms. They have their reasons, something about enabling mutinies or coups, or some other such paranoia.

Tasha doesn’t answer at first. She’s only just managed to stop her continued gagging. It’s why she has to take a couple short sharp breaths and then as she turns to begin work on the central console she offers honestly, “I’ll see what I can do Captain.”

It isn’t the resounding optimism that Linda was hoping for, but the Captain of the Prowler can’t exactly berate her navigations officer. Well, she could, but in her eyes it would be the improper thing to do. After all, Linda doubts anyone has found themselves surrounded by what members of her crew have found on the Namora. Save for Iain, or a man like him. She can’t say for sure as a lot of his records from before joining Command are either classified or simply omitted entirely. In fact, the only thing she knows about him from before he signed up to Command is that he used to work in private security. That’s it. She knows nothing else. She’d queried, like any good captain would when being assigned a new crew member. But the response that had come back was; that he is a very competent and dedicated asset. She had been sceptical of that statement. It had sounded rehearsed. A line spun by the higher-ups that revealed nothing. Though, she knows what the man is made of now. However, it did take a while for her to reach that same conclusion. Especially, since she believes in trust being earned.

As Tasha works her magic, sifting through the chaotic filing system implemented by the Namora’s archaic database, Francesca feels the need, as she gazes around, to ask, “Why would anyone do something like this?”

However, she never gets a reply and the junior security officer cannot decide if that’s for the best or not, as Tasha announces, “I have the personnel logs for the ship.”

Seconds later, and without an order to do so, she begins reading off the names of the Namora’s crew. “We have; Captain Carter Zan, Pilot Charlotte Perez, Co-Pilot Diego Richards, Navigator Wendy Chou, Nurse Sebastien Tovey, Engineer Oliver Krantz, Engineer Diedrich Lemonte, Engineer Vicki Gunn and a Doctor Ulysses Nakamura.”

“What’s that? Nine crew members in all.” Hector asks before answering his own question a couple seconds later.

“There’s not enough body parts strewn about for this to be all members of the crew.” The security chief of the Prowler remarks before silent glances are exchanged.

No one knows what to say. Some of them have questions as to how Iain can be so sure, but truth be told they really don’t want an answer, so they keep quiet. That is until several minutes later Captain Jimenez breaks it by querying, “Tasha, are there any other records?”

Without a delay Tasha returns her attention to the console. It’s a welcome break for her mind, which had been dwelling on Iain’s previous statement. The one that had sent them all, Captain Linda Jimenez included, into that period of over thinking unease.

The navigator has pushed the thoughts from her mind entirely, which is more than can be said for Francesca and Hector who continue to glance at various points around them as if they are searching for something. Neither would be able to explain, if they were asked, what they are attempting to seek out, and that is probably for the best.

As Tasha continues to search the mangled database, Ville informs, “Atmospherics from the Namora report that the atmosphere is breathable.”

“There is no way I’m taking off my helmet and breathing this air.” Hector says in response as he points at the bulky mass covering his head with the long and wide face-shield through which his entire face, ears included, is visible.

Linda ignores the outburst from her medic and instead orders, “Ville, release the Prowler’s airlock. I want pressure equalised between both ships.”

Ville hesitates. It’s uncharacteristic of the man, but Linda understands why. Not that he queries her order. He simply pauses. If he did she’d answer that her reasoning is encase the boarding party need to make a swift exit. He’d understand that, but he simply activates the airlock release instead prior to advising, “Done Captain.”

“I have vid logs ma’am.” Tasha informs right after.

“Start playback when you’re ready Tasha.” Is Captain Jimenez’s curt response a very short time later. Her eyes focused intently on the viewscreen as it continues to relay the feed from Francesca’s suit.

“Captain is that wise? Should we not sweep the remainder of the Namora first?” Iain questions just as Tasha is about to initiate playback.

“Concern noted.” Linda confirms before adding, “But I want to know what went on here before I send anymore of our people, you included, to any further part of that vessel.”

Captain Jimenez’s voice is calm and even as she speaks. It’s the tone she puts on when she has to play Command protocol adhering Captain of the Prowler. She doesn’t enjoy it or necessarily agree with it, but when someone questions her, rightly so or not, it’s a habit she falls back on.

“Understood.” Iain replies as he gives a curt nod while looking at Tasha. It’s the security chief’s silent way of informing her that she is free to continue, and that he will make no further interruptions. Tasha knows the look well, which is why she quickly depresses the playback option before anyone else has a chance to voice any queries or concerns they may have.

The holodisplay leaps into life. A burst of static sending jagged grey lines across the otherwise black mass for a second before the picture appears showing the face of a man with shortly cropped brown hair and hazel coloured eyes.

He’s clad in a jumpsuit that is dark blue, almost to the point of being black, in colour.

A few seconds pass, during which he blinks once, before he begins to speak.

“This is Captain Zan of the transport vessel Namora. And for the first time in, I don’t know how long, I actually have something to report on one of these logs. That makes a change.” Carter says rolling his eyes.

“Anyway, we hit a probe today during our run. As a result we were forced to come to a full stop and enact repairs. The ships fine, as is the cargo and my crew. But we did bring the remains of the probe onboard. I haven’t seen it personally yet but some of the engineers tell me it looks old, I mean real old. Say they’ve never seen anything like it. They think it’s a prototype of some kind.” Carter pauses, looks off camera and then continues. “I ordered it to be stowed in our hold with the rest of the cargo. Figure once we dock Command will want to take a look at it. I’ll issue a data burst informing them once we’re on approach. Don’t want to break protocol after all.” Carter rolls his eyes for a second time and then the playback ends.

The screen stays black for a few moments and then leaps back into life. Again, Captain Zan is the only member of the crew visible. Except this time he looks panicked, no scared. He’s hunched over, his face pale and beaded with sweat.

“This is Captain Zan. There’s something wrong with the crew.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“They’ve become paranoid and have started to showcase a propensity for violent outbursts.” Carter’s eyes nervously zip left and then right before he continues. “I don’t know for sure but it seems it all started with Oliver Krantz, one of my engineers.” Again the Captain of the Namora’s eyes zip one direction and then the other. “But it seems to have spread to the rest of the crew. And the only link I can make is that it’s related to the damned probe we picked up.” His breathing is heavy now as beads of sweat begin to trickle down his face. “He was studying that thing. Said it was fascinating. He never elaborated. But before long he became obsessed with it and started to encourage everyone to go examine it so they too could glimpse the wonders it possesses. His words, not mine. I tried to convince him to leave it be. Even sent him to Nakamura to get some help, but…”

A loud bang rings out and Carter stops speaking mid-sentence. Tasha, Hector and Francesca almost jump out of their skin in response to the bang.

Captain Zan turns in his seat, his attention diverted as his brow furrows. He rises out of his captain’s seat not longer before he shouts, “What the fuck is going on?”He sounds confident and sure now. Nothing like he had when he’d been speaking to the vid log camera. Yet, it is clear that the confidence is faked.

There is a pause after his question but no reply. Instead, he is beset upon by several of what Tasha, Iain, Hector, Francesca, Ville and Linda can only guess are members of his crew. Whoever they are force Carter back into his captain’s chair. He thrashes and spits as they hold him in place, and then without warning they reveal that they’re armed. The realisation only helps to double Captain Zan’s attempts at breaking free. He doesn’t manage to and so is left to be stabbed, hacked and mutilated by his attacker’s right after.

Blood sprays across the lens of the camera as Carter screams with a mixture of fear and rage. His cries go unanswered however as the faces of his crew smile cruelly while continuing to hack at his body until his chest is carved open, his intestines are hanging out with blood everywhere, his right arm is missing having been severed below the elbow and his face is carved and cut to ribbons.

The captain of the Namora isn’t screaming anymore. He’s silent now, dead. In place of his screams and pleas is chanting. It starts so quiet that it can barely be heard but quickly builds and builds until the chants are screams, torturous and shrieking. But the crew of the Prowler cannot make out the words. They overlap, mingle and pop, overwhelming the in-built microphone of the camera.

Tasha and Francesca both turn away from the holodisplay. They can’t bear to watch anymore. Both of their stomachs churn as they attempt to stop themselves from vomiting. Meanwhile, Hector’s head is shaking from side to side, his head lowered. Iain keeps watching as the second log shifts into the third. And this log is even more brutal than the last.

It shows the crew, or what is left of them, gathered together as they hack and mutilate their own bodies. A few are dead in the background but many of those still living are heavily disfigured and missing pieces, all of which are strewn about the bridge. Some are the same body parts that are now hanging from chains and that are carefully placed on seats, but others are not.

The look in the eyes of the crew members is mad and violent. Their tongues dancing as one of them, a woman, edges a severed finger, from her own hand, toward her mouth. It is at that moment Hector can take no more and slams his hand down on the central console’s playback option.

The vid log ends immediately and blinks out of existence saving them all from any further visual horrors.

“What the fuck?” Francesca blurts soon after.

Her eyes dart from Hector to Iain to Tasha and then back to Hector as she waits for a reply. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get one. At least not one she was looking for as instead Iain asks, “What are your orders Captain?”

The security chief gets no reply. So he waits for more than thirty seconds and then repeats, “Captain, what are your orders?”

Again he gets no response. He feels a twinge of unease crawl up his spine. He resists the urge to shiver in response to it and is about to utter his query for a third time when Tasha jumps in and questions, “Ville, are you there?”

She too gets no reply. Though, she too waits until nearly a minute has passed, at which point she is certain no response is going to be forthcoming.

“The channels still open.” Francesca informs, having read the thoughts that were going through both Iain and Tasha’s minds.

A long silence hangs in the air between the four of them, while they continue to exchange glances and worried looks. That is, until finally Iain speaks. “You three learn whatever else you can about what happened on this ship.”

Then without another word he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” Hector questions with a fearful tinge in his voice.

“I’m going to find out why we’re getting no reply from the Prowler.” Is the succinct reply Iain gives as he steps over the threshold that links the bridge to the corridor beyond it.

“Don’t you want some backup?” Hector then blares now that Iain is out of sight, but it’s too late. The security chief is gone.

The medic lets out a heavy sigh and then turns to the two women with him, both have expressions that he imagines mirrors his own, fear. It’s why he quickly asks, unable to come up with anything else to say, “What’re we supposed to do?”

“We…need to search the ship. See if we can work out who’s dead.” Francesca admits with a shrug, her voice distant as she speaks.

“Everyone’s dead!” Hector barks back in response. His face the perfect epitome of disbelief because his eyes are wide, his mouth is partially agape while his hands are held palms up to further reinforce his tone.

Following that Hector continues, “It’s clear none of the crew are alive. You saw it for yourself. They hacked themselves and each other up into pieces. There is no one to find, no one to rescue. We should just get the FUCK off this ship!”

“It’s not that simple.” Tasha admits begrudgingly. Her gaze is averted with her eyes aimed downward at the central console between the three of them. She wishes it was that simple and that they could get back aboard the Prowler and run, but it’s not an option.

“Why isn’t it?” Hector exclaims. His confusion mixing with abject horror because of what he’s hearing.

“Cause Command’s orders don’t just relate to the crew being recovered. We’re here for the cargo and ship as well.” Francesca explains with a defeated look on her face and a monotone voice.

“FUCK!” Hector exclaims angrily. He really wants to punch something. He can feel the anger building up. He doesn’t like this. He just wants out of here. It’s why when a thought enters his head he quickly relays it. “So why don’t we just pretend we never found the Namora? No one has to know we were here. We can just cut and run.”

“We can’t.” Tasha replies with a shake of her head before explaining, “Prowler records all ship to ship data as well as what comes from scans.”

“So just hack and delete it.” Hector says close to delirium and unable to understand why it is that the two women with him seem intent on putting obstacles in the way.

“It doesn’t work like that Hector. If we hack the Prowler’s systems there’s a eighty seven percent chance they’ll find out and then we’ll all be on our way to Prism.” Francesca retorts with a flat tone of voice. Her head still hanging low as she sighs.

“Shit!” Hector exclaims as he turns and takes a couple steps away from the console, only for Francesca to query, “Where are you going?”

She sounds worried, which for Francesca isn’t like her at all. Then again nor had her previously resigned and downbeat tone when she had been informing Hector how they have no way out of this other than to do what they’ve been ordered to by Command.

“I need time to think.” Is the medics’ honest reply as he continues to move further and further away from the pair of women.

Francesca is about to issue an order, after all as the only other present security officer she is in command of their little trio, when Tasha stops Francesca by placing a hand on the security officers shoulder and then giving a swift couple shakes of her head.

Francesca relents. She doesn’t want to, but perhaps Tasha is right. And so watches as Hector slinks off the bridge and into the corridor, alone.