2135

Waits entered San Cristobal in search of Lingard. When he didn't find her, he approached Morley, who was sliding a couple of X-rays into a large folder. "Excuse me, Doctor Morley? Can I ask where Doctor Lingard is?"

"Do you have an appointment?" Morley asked, sealing the folder.

"No. I just need to talk to her about . . . something personal."

"Is she at least expecting you?"

"Not sure."

Morley raised an eyebrow. "Well, she told me she was headed to the ladies' room. Haven't seen her come out in about twenty minutes or so. Hope everything's alright."

"I'll let her know you said that." Waits turned to head down the hall. When he spotted the door of the women's bathroom, he knocked. "Doc? It's Waits. I need to talk to you."

He got no answer, but he heard someone sigh. He knocked again. "Are you OK? Morley's wondering where you are."

A minute later, the door opened. Lingard's eyes were red and wet with tears. "What do you want?"

"I gotta talk to you in private. It's about Ransome."

"If it's about how he saw me kiss you, I already know."

"He told you?"

"He went to my apartment earlier this morning. This . . . This is all my fault-"

"No, no, it's not. Come on, it's not your fault he's an asshole."

More tears rolled down her face. "It is my fault I've slept with him, though."

"Pardon?"

"A few times." Looking down, Lingard swallowed nervously. "Only way I was able to get new equipment for the operating room. People would've died without it."

"Did he force you to do it?"

"No. I didn't want to give up anymore records, so . . . I gave an alternative. Waits, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Was it a shitty move? Yes, but you put other people ahead of yourself, even though you . . . had to sleep with Ransome. Look, if . . . if Hazelton gets removed after the inspection, I will do whatever I can to deal with this. I don't care if the station is going to be decommissioned soon. I won't let this continue."

"He's going to tell everyone what he saw if Hazelton gets removed. It doesn't matter whether you tell the inspector or not. You don't even know if you're going to be named as his replacement."

"You got a point with that." Waits took a breath. "This is a big risk we're taking."

Lingard nodded.

"I guess . . . I guess we better hope the decommissioning is soon. That way we can . . . hop on a transport to Gateway and keep doing what we do best, without worrying about Ransome."

"Well, until then, we'll make do with what we have, and . . . find happiness and enjoyment wherever we can. There's a place in the mall under the habitation towers we can go to that Ransome wouldn't be seen dead in. Very cheap grill. Not up to his tastes at all, but the service is excellent."

"When you say 'cheap,' you mean-"

"Not fancy. Comfort food. Friendly people. Lots of beer."

"I'm sold on that. I could use a drink."

"OK. When should we go?"

"Tonight? I'll make sure not to get night shift again."

"No matter how much it hurts, please, don't threaten to ruin Hazelton's stuff."

"Whatever you say, Doc." Waits paused, the moments from last night suddenly surfacing in his brain. "One more thing, before I go, Doc . . ." He stopped himself, embarrassed, but knew he had to follow through, given that he had Lingard's attention. "I should probably return the gesture from last night."

"What gesture?"

The kiss. He gulped, face reddening. Nervously, he tugged his shirt collar. Heart pounding faster, he gave Lingard a quick kiss on the forehead, and turned away before she could see his blush deepen.

That small moment haunted Waits for the rest of the day. He kept to himself, not wanting anyone to read the details within his face. He relaxed as the day went on, knowing that this would remain between him and Lingard. Mostly. Her kiss for him was already blown. His for hers would hopefully remain secret.

They both knew it didn't mean much of anything. It could mean anything to anyone who witnessed, and it was only a matter of time before Ransome told the whole station. The worst part was that Waits had no way making him keep his mouth shut. No legal way, that is. Waits was not about to stoop to Ransome's level, nor would he take him to an isolated part of the station and shoot him.

A cold feeling pulsated through Waits's veins as he thought of that. He couldn't do that. Ransome was no innocent, but it wasn't like he had killed anyone. Perhaps he was a different person outside Sevastopol. Maybe he'd shape up when Waits took Hazelton's place and made it clear he wasn't going to put up with anyone's bullshit. One can hope.

The mall underneath the first floor of the habitation towers was merely an extension of the mall on the first floor, and it looked just as deserted. Most shops were empty. A few drunks sat around, looking dazed and confused.

A glow came from one open place at the end of the mall. Waits stepped inside to find two people sitting at a table, and the heavy scent of fried food. The walls were covered in pictures of places on Earth. Cities, mountains, forests, beaches, and suburban streets. Near the bar was a chalkboard reading "_ Days Till Sevastopol Closes!" Waits imagined an actual number would go there when it was finally announced the station would be decommissioned.

"Come on in and have a seat, Marshal!" A young, scruffy man peered out from the kitchen, face covered in grease and flour and spices. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Whichever beer you have, son," Waits replied. He noticed Lingard waving to him from a booth, and he swallowed nervously before sitting across from her. "Hi."

"Hi," Lingard said. "You OK? You're flush."

"Sorry. Just . . . um . . . I'm sorry about earlier."

"With what? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Waits lowered his voice. "About . . . you know, kissing you on the forehead. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, that. Seriously, you don't have to apologize for that."

"Really? I was afraid . . . you'd think it means something when it really doesn't."

She tugged his cap. "Relax. I appreciated it. Just enjoy yourself."

A waiter with a filthy apron walked over to the table with a bottle. "Here's your beer, sir. Can I get you two some biscuits?"

"Sure. And menus, please," Waits said. He looked at Lingard when the waiter left. "You're right, this place is probably considered a dump to Ransome. Reminds me of the roadside diners back home."

"Where exactly is 'home' for you? I don't think you've ever told me where you from."

"Well, I don't come from Hell, like the other Marshals think. I'm actually from Massachusetts, near a small town called Deerfield. It's dead silent there. Bitterly cold for most of the year. Summer brings the tourists to the historic part of town. It's real pretty in the fall, though. But still bitterly cold. When I got my driver's license, I took my father's car and would drive out to Boston. He eventually got tired of that, and kicked me out at a dealership with some money and told me to get my own vehicle." A sad smile crossed Waits's face. "Dad was . . . a tough son-of-a-bitch to get along with, but he was loyal to us and gave us whatever we needed to succeed."

"I'm guessing he's . . . passed on?"

Waits nodded. "About ten years ago."

"You miss him?"

"Quite a bit at times. I've gotten distant from my family ever since . . . ever since I became a Marshal. I'm still close to my sister. Send her messages every week. I've just struggled to get along with her husband and get closer to my nephew. I don't think I'd have this issue if I had a post closer to home. I wanted to leave home, though. I was tired of the quiet and the long fucking winters and the lack of things to do. I'd get to go places as a Marshal. That much was guaranteed. I just . . . wish it didn't come at the price of straining my relationship with Em. I can't take her away from her husband, or her son. I've definitely filled the role of the uncle who only shows up every few years, and the kid barely has any memory of when I last visited. Considering my body's now struggling to handle hypersleep, I'll probably be stuck at Gateway till somebody tells me to retire. At least I'd be able to do my job and have better access to Em and Micah. Maybe things would get better."

The waiter returned with menus and a basket of biscuits, along with tiny butter packets and a jar of honey. "Enjoy, my friends," he said, laying everything out. "Please, don't hesitate to call me when you're ready."

Lingard waited until he left before settling her gaze back on Waits. "I'm guessing that's why you can be a bit grouchy sometimes; you don't like admitting it, but you're lonely."

Waits nodded.

"I won't deny that Sevastopol isn't the best place to make friends. I thought this place would be spectacular for my career. I can remember I was happy and excited and . . . way too trusting. That's probably why Ransome picked me to be the one to blackmail, over and over. Morley's too smart and Kuhlman's too unpredictable."

"Not sure about Kuhlman being a good idea to talk to, but . . . does Morley know about this?"

"No, and I feel bad for . . . having to come up with excuses as to why some of our patient files have been accessed. I've thought about telling him, but I don't know what his reaction will be."

"I think he should know what's going on. I think he'd be just as pissed at Ransome as anyone, and he seems like someone who'd understand you didn't feel like you had a choice. I don't think he'd be mad at you."

"I hope you're right."

"Have I ever been wrong with you?"

"I don't think we've known each other long enough for me to give a definite 'yes' or 'no' answer."

Waits pretended to be insulted, but then smirked. "You know me better than anyone else on this station."

"In a way, you're right. And this all stemmed from us running into each other when you had to throw up."

"We're gonna be bringing that up for a long time, I think."

Within an hour, Waits and Lingard were the only people left in the grill. The staff didn't seem to mind; they continued to bring out the beer for Waits and refill Lingard's water.

Waits was tipsy. His words gradually became more slurred as he continued to drink. His stories were frequently interrupted by hiccups. Eventually, after Waits mumbled his apartment number, Lingard helped him stand up, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She sighed. "OK, you've had enough. Time for bed. Hazelton won't be happy if you show up hungover."

"I'm OK, honey, I'm OK," Waits said. "Hazelton won't know, 'cause he wouldn't know his dick from his elbow."

Lingard couldn't help but grin at that.

Waits's drunken ramblings echoed throughout the empty mall, as did Lingard's occasional bursts of laughter. She struggled to shush him as they got closer to the elevator. He was flush, and his eyes were sparkling, smiling for no discernable reason as they rode up to the apartments. He slumped against the wall, forcing Lingard to pull on him when they arrived on their floor.

"I only know where you live 'cause we're on the same floor," Waits slurred.

Lingard peered out of the elevator, understandably paranoid that Ransome was watching. "OK, you need to be quiet. We don't need Ransome seeing us again."

"He can go sit on a cactus."

"Yes, he can, but we're not worrying about that right now. Get in your apartment, and go to sleep."

"Aw, night's over already?"

"I'm not staying with you. Do you even remember your door code?"

"Nope."

Lingard sighed, and rubbed her face. "Alright, well, I'm not just dumping you out here. You can stay in my apartment."

"Ain't that sweet."

Lingard shoved Waits into her apartment before closing and locking the door, whispering a prayer to herself that they hadn't been seen. "You can sleep on the couch."

"And where're you gonna sleep?"

"In my own bed. I'm going to shower first, though."

"Can I take a piss first?"

"Fine. Hurry up."

"Don't rush me."

Almost as soon as Waits entered the bathroom, a light on the phone began to flash and a beeping noise filled the apartment. Cursing to herself, Lingard picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Doctor, just calling to check up on you," Ransome said.

"What do you want?"

"I didn't see you in the first floor mall. Were you-what is that sound?"

Lingard looked at the bathroom door, hearing Waits relieving himself. "I'm . . . running water for something."

"Well, turn it off. It's annoying."

Covering the phone receiver with a towel, Lingard quietly knocked on the door. "Waits, can you hold it for just a minute?"

"No can do, ma'am. Once I start, I can't stop."

"Keep your voice down! For God's sake, how much did you have to drink?"

"A lot. I think I'm almost done . . . nope, not quite."

"Hurry up!"

"If I do that, it hurts . . . Alright, now I'm done."

Lingard went back to the phone. "Sorry about that."

"Is there someone in the apartment with you? I heard voices," Ransome said.

"That's just the television. What do you want, Ransome?"

"Oh, just checking in. I really was upset over that incident with Waits last night. I think you can do a lot better than that."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Waits is a perfectly fine human being."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. You have to watch your step around him. One wrong move, and he might hurt you. I don't think that's something the Marshals want in their record books. After all, he threatened me just for walking near the Bureau. I can't imagine what he'd do to you if you so much as looked at him wrong. You didn't hear he swore in front of a little girl?"

"I heard. Listen, Ransome, you're the last person I'd want relationship advice from. I know your divorce was rather messy, but you and your ex-wife were both in the wrong. I think you need to meet the right person and get your head out of Sevastopol's budget before you go around giving advice."

"As if Waits has better advice. Or potential."

"Waits is at least genuine. Is there anything else you need, or are you just bored right now?"

"Good night, Lingard." Ransome hung up.

Shaking her head, Lingard put the phone back on its hook. She turned to see Waits leaving the bathroom, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down. "You poor thing," she whispered, tossing a blanket on him. "Get some rest."

The first thing Waits felt upon waking up was a splitting headache, like someone was smashing a mallet against his skull. Attempting to sit up generated a surge of dull aches throughout his body, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his own apartment. "Jesus . . . Christmas . . . where the fuck am I?"

"Good morning." Lingard approached him, holding a wet washcloth. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit. I think they mixed something in that beer last night."

"Sit back." Lingard pressed the cold cloth to Waits's forehead. "You had a lot to drink, and you couldn't remember your door code, so I let you crash on my couch."

"Nothing . . . Nothing happened, right?"

"Other than you taking a very long piss while Ransome was on the phone, no. You were out like a light when you collapsed afterward."

Groaning, Waits rubbed his face. "Nobody can know about this. This'll spread more rumors than the kissing. Everyone and their mother on this Goddamn station is gonna think we had sex."

"My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone."

"I'm trusting you. Don't even hint at it. Shit, how am I gonna go to the Bureau like this? Hazelton will find out I was drinking."

"The best I can say is take a shower, and have something to eat and drink."

"I really don't feel like eating."

"You're going to feel even worse if you don't put something in your stomach. Don't act like I haven't dealt with this before-and don't you give me that look. Get up, go shower. I'll make some tea and a light breakfast."

2175

The ticking of a clock on the wall was the only sound in the comm room. Gorman took a sip of coffee, glancing at each individual screen. It had been a tough decision, letting everyone go to bed at lights-out. They could be called at any moment.

At least everything's ready to go if we are. Gorman gave a quiet sigh. He was just as exhausted as everyone else, but refused to fall asleep.

Around eleven, one of the screens flickered to life. Gorman saluted. "General."

Russell nodded, and returned the salute. "Everything on Gateway is under control. I'm delivering another broadcast when I'm done with you here."

Gorman frowned. "Is . . . something wrong?"

"The Marshals just arrested an intruder in the labs next to Gateway. Former Seegson employee by the name of Brayden Wright. He locked a Marine in one of the labs containing a toxic plant and shot a scientist's pet. We're under the suspicion he caused the blackout, but we won't know until we interrogate him. You remember how we've been monitoring activity of former Seegson people after one of the Weyland-Yutani towers was bombed in Tokyo in 2167?"

"Yes, sir. I was . . . there."

"I think we were all hoping that was a one-time thing. I also think we were wrong, and it's time we move in on some of our targets. We need to know what else these people have planned. Your unit might be taking a trip to LV-510. Dock at Violet Rose Station, and take a shuttle down to the base in Netrayas. I'll keep you updated at things unfold."

"Alright, sir."

Russell's orders weren't confirmed until five in the morning; the unit was indeed traveling out to LV-510. Gorman gathered his Marines in the briefing room after breakfast, and gestured for everyone to sit down and be quiet. Then he waited. Once they fell silent, he took a breath. "I got mission orders earlier this morning."

Not a sound was made. Even Towers was quiet.

"We're not going to Gateway-well, technically, we are, but, the mission is on LV-510." Gorman picked up a remote, and turned on the projector screen behind him. "We will be docking at the transition station, Violet Rose, and taking a shuttle down to the city of Netrayas, where the location of a Seegson facility that was supposedly abandoned will be revealed to us. Any questions?"

"Is this a search-and-destroy mission?" Wade asked.

"No. This facility has computers containing hundreds of thousands of documents and recordings from Seegson's history. Command wants us to find out if there are plans for attack hidden within these systems. When we get to Netrayas, we'll be able to analyze this mission in detail. We'll be taking the USS McAuliffe from Gateway tomorrow. This'll be a three-week hypersleep journey. Make sure you let your loved ones know. You have all of today to do that, and get prepared. If things change, I will let you all know ASAP. Understood?"

"Yes, Gunny," the Marines said in unison.

"Alright, get to work."

"We have no idea how well guarded that facility is," Valen was saying, pulling something out of a locker. "They might have traps or specialized systems in place. I recommend taking a gas mask. Here, try this one on."

Gorman fit the mask to his face, tightening the back straps. He then paced the room and crawled on the floor to make sure the mask didn't move, and stood upright, loosening the straps to pull the mask off. "Fits well."

"Great. Pack this one, then. What else?"

"I'll take care of it. You go take care of your own gear. You're gonna be in charge when I'm in the vents."

"Right, Gunny." Valen left the room. Towers slid past him to enter.

"You need something?" Gorman asked, taking a pair of soft shoes out of his locker.

"Yeah. Well, first, what are those for? Going to a sleepover?" Towers replied, pointing to the moccasins.

"No. These are so I can move as silently as I can in a vent."

"Ah. OK, my real question is . . ." Towers glanced over her shoulder, then closed the door behind her. "I'm not sure I'm ready to do this."

"That's right, this is your first real mission." Gorman sat on a bench. "I was nervous on my first mission. Not just nervous, scared shitless. But, I had a lot of confidence in my sergeant. He knew what he was doing. He reassured us, and told me that I need to have confidence in myself and my training, though, without a doubt, when you're getting shot at, your survival instincts will kick in. That's all part of the job. Just remember to do what you're told, have faith in those above you, and yourself." He paused to think. "Can you do me a favor while we're there, though?"

"What?"

"When I go in the vent systems, I need you to hold my armor. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks. I'm giving you a big job, OK? Don't lose it unless it's absolutely necessary."

"OK." Towers bit her lip, then took a breath. "I'm also afraid of failure. I'm . . . afraid my actions could get somebody killed."

Gorman shrugged. "Don't do anything that could get someone killed, then. You have common sense, sweetheart. Use it."

Towers managed a small smile. "Thanks, Gorman." She held out her hand. Gorman took it, and Towers squeezed his hand in both of hers.

After a moment of sitting in silence, Gorman gave Towers a quizzical look. "I feel like there's something you want to tell me."

Towers sighed. "I'm . . . also afraid that . . . I might lose you. You're the first person to really give me a chance and believe I'm capable of succeeding here, and . . . I just don't want to lose you."

"I'm thinking about how hilarious it is that you hated my guts just two weeks ago."

"Well, I don't hate your guts anymore. Not sure if I see you as my best friend, my big brother, or my new uncle."

"I'm your brother-in-arms, that's for sure. We're all brothers and sisters in the Marines."

Towers put her arms around Gorman's neck, hugging him tightly.

Gorman smirked. "I still think it's funny how-"

"Are you going to bring up the past every time I'm nice to you?"

"Does it annoy you?"

"Yes."

"Then as long as you salt my coffee and put crayons in the dryer with my underwear, I will bring up how you hated me when we first met."

Question: How might Sevastopol have changed under Waits had the Anesidora not arrived?