2175

Gorman approached the vent grate in the wall of the complex's enormous server farm. He cursed in his head when he saw the trousers of two guards standing in front of the cover, and moved backward into the shadows. His heart skipped a beat each time a guard shifted, but he stayed, listening.

The guards didn't say a word. Gorman tried to remember the map of the vent system. His brain was fuzzy from crawling around in so much dust for the last few hours. He moved further back, realizing how little oxygen he had in his system.

He needed to pace himself, and take a moment to breathe, and think. His thoughts began swimming in the still and stagnant water that was his brain at the moment.

His thoughts turned to fresh air. Fresh, cool, morning air. His thoughts turned to the honeymoon cabin, southwest of Dublin. Every morning was fit to photograph. Every position on that little hill gave a perfect view of the surrounding landscape. Gorman wished they could have stayed longer.

Lydia. His thoughts turned to Lydia.

Every morning they woke up together was the best morning, especially in the cozy bedroom of that Irish cabin. It was a blend of modern commodities and traditional style, kept up by a little old groundskeeper who lived on his own in a small house at the base of the hill. It was nice to just lay with each other and snuggle in the early morning hours, when it was cold and the coffee wasn't ready yet.

"Good morning, darling," Gorman whispered, kissing his new bride on the cheek.

"Good morning," Lydia replied, putting her arms around her new husband's neck. "How'd you sleep?"

"Wonderful." Gorman moved onto his back. "First day of our honeymoon, and first day of being married."

"Nothing has changed aside from the fact that we wear rings now. And that we made a big promise to each other."

"I made that promise a long time ago, when I knew you were the one."

"Scott, that was kinda cheesy."

Gorman smirked. "I know, but you still love me."

The longing to experience that little moment again was so intense that an ache started up in Gorman's chest. He returned to the darkness of the vent. If he wanted to see Lydia again, he needed to complete this mission.

He took one more breath to realign his thoughts, then silently crept back over to the vent grate.

A sudden hiss and a screech made his blood freeze.


2137

For a moment, Waits felt as if the storm was lifting. He personally made sure everyone boarded their assigned transports when they arrived at Sevastopol. The Spaceflight Terminals were at their busiest, and there were no breaks for anyone that day. It felt good to be leading this.

One trip down, two more to go. The next two flights scheduled to arrive were those headed to other colonies, and the medical ships.

"We should have nothing but smooth sailing from now till mid-November," Waits told Lingard and Morley when he met the two doctors in San Cristobal's break room. "We'll miss Thanksgiving, but we should reach Gateway before Christmas."

"I just wish the med ships had arrived first," Morley said. "We've got patients that are hard to move."

"I told you in my message that you might have to put some in early hypersleep."

"We don't have enough portable cryotubes."

Waits groaned and rubbed his face. "Then let the guys on the med transports handle it. I'm sure they have plenty of supplies."

Lingard looked at Morley. "Wanna tell him what we found?"

Waits gave them both a hard look.

Morley had to sit before speaking. "We found out . . . why we're being depleted of mood pills. Kuhlman's not doling them out like candy. He's . . . taking them for himself." Morley looked down at the table, as if he was responsible for this happening, even though he wasn't.

"Asshole's addicted to them, then," Waits said.

"Most likely. We're working to change the code for the dispensary. I-I know there's no point anymore, but . . . I don't know." Morley clenched his fists, and covered his face.

"This is almost over, Doc." Waits reached over to shake Morley's shoulder. When he didn't get a response, he kept his hand on Morley. "Hey. What's the matter? Doc, it's not your fault Kuhlman took all those pills. Don't beat yourself up about it. We're gonna leave this all behind."


It was early November, and they were still waiting for ships. Waits anxiously awaited messages, day in, and day out. It must've been past ten when he realized he was completely alone in the Bureau, staring at previous messages sent from the transport captains.

He could feel his body begging for sleep. A fuzzy feeling was beginning to creep over his brain. His eyelids were heavy. Yet he couldn't bring himself to quit for the night.

His eyes finally left the screen when he noticed someone at the door of the Bureau. Lingard knocked on the glass, and Waits pressed a button to let her in. She walked over to his desk, and whispered, "You need some sleep."

"Do I?" Waits muttered, his gaze returning to the computer in front of him.

"Yes. You do this for me all the time. My turn to do it for you."

Waits didn't react right away, prompting Lingard to give an annoyed sigh. "God, Waits, you're so slow." She watched him take his time with shutting down his computer, then tugged his cap. When he didn't respond, she yanked it, again, and again, until he shut down the computer and stood up.

Lingard waited until the doors were closed and locked before taking Waits's hand. Waits glanced at her, feeling more and more tired as they walked away from the Bureau. He still had the strength to adjust his grip on Lingard's hand. He would always have the strength for that.

Despite the fuzziness in his brain, Waits began thinking about his journey with Lingard so far. Two years and a few months ago, they had just been friends, brought together through hardship, bonding in their loneliness. In time, they realized they weren't lonely anymore. They had each other. Somehow, those feelings blossomed.

He had been a stranger. Lingard knew just about everyone on Sevastopol. Somehow, no one else impressed her like he had. She could count on him. He could count on her.

When they were in the darkness of Lingard's apartment, lit only by the distant sun beyond KG-348, Waits tried to imagine that was Earth instead of the orange and bronze gas giant. In a few weeks, it would be, and they'd be in a much nicer apartment than this one. And, perhaps, Lingard would be wearing an engagement ring.

As he stared, he became aware of Lingard hugging him, and, despite his tiredness, he smiled at her.

"You're so worn out," she whispered. "Go to sleep."

"Kiss first," he whispered back.

"OK."

There was almost complete silence, aside from their breathing, which was interrupted when their lips touched.

"I love you," Lingard said when they pulled apart.

"Thanks." Waits paused, and swallowed. He realized he was fucking up a chance to say "I love you" back. He didn't want to mess it up, especially since he never said it before.

After getting a shower, he joined Lingard in her bedroom. He figured he needed to say it now. He lay next to her, moving her kitten, Patrick, out of his way. "Hey, sweetheart?" he said, softly. "I love you, too."

She didn't respond, as she was fast asleep.

Waits cursed himself as he put his head on the pillow. At least I know I can say it.


A medical transport finally arrived several days later. Waits was relieved as he watched Morley assist in getting several patients on board. This whole ordeal was almost over.

The veterinary technicians offered to take residents' pets out with them, so Lingard put Patrick in his carrier and handed him off. The vets would be able to take care of the animals if any issues arose from cryosleep.

"I just hope we leave soon, so Patrick isn't alone on Gateway for very long," Waits said when he heard the news.

"You really can't say you don't love that cat," Lingard replied, grinning.

"Keep that between us."

Things fell silent again for another few days. They were almost two weeks into November when Waits was notified of a ship approaching Sevastopol. For a moment, he thought it was another transport coming to pick up the remaining civilians, but upon opening the transmission, he saw it wasn't. It was a smaller vessel, and not listed among those scheduled to be sent to the station.

Waits ran a check over the ship's name and number. He couldn't remember any ship called the Anesidora, nor was it registered for anything at Sevastopol. Probably lost. Waits sighed before opening a channel to the ship's captain.

A man calling himself Marlow was requesting to dock, claiming he had the flight recorder of the Nostromo, a ship that had gone missing about fifteen years ago. Waits could remember when the Nostromo disappeared. All he heard was that it never came back with a massive ore shipment, and that no one knew where exactly it went missing. That flight recorder would prove useful. He could hand it over to Gateway and let an investigative team play with it to find out what happened.

Then again, if this guy had the recorder, what about the rest of the ship? If the flight recorder was the only thing found, it was likely the Nostromo was destroyed. Probably a bad accident, Waits thought. Terrible for sure, and the crew's loved ones had a right to know what happened.

Waits cussed to himself when he remembered Seegson's protocol about taking a financial cut of anything a salvage crew brought to Sevastopol. He'd have to remind Marlow of that, even though it seemed pointless now, with the station decommissioning. Of course, it was possible Ransome would squeal about it once they were all off the station, and Seegson would hound Waits until they saw that money.

Unenthusiastically, Waits responded to Marlow, reluctantly letting part of his crew board Sevastopol.

Sitting back, something squirmed in his gut. Some bad feeling. Dread. Something terrible was going to happen. He paused to listen to that feeling. Right now, he wanted to dismiss it. He was so close to getting out of here. He was so close to a new life, something better.

This would be simple. He'd discuss payment of the flight recorder with Marlow-no, he'd let Ransome handle that. After all, the cut was Seegson's policy, not Waits's. The Anesidora would leave. Everything would be fine at the end of the day.


2175

Something smashed against the vent cover. Gorman kept moving back. The screeching continued, then he heard the voice of one of the guards outside.

"What the hell is his problem? Get back here. Heel!" the guard shouted.

"He smells something in the vent," another voice said. "Take the cover off and have a look."

Gorman got back around a corner, freezing when the beam of a flashlight split the darkness. He watched the light move, hoping and praying it didn't catch a shadow. His blood ran colder and colder.

"I'm not seeing anything," the second guard said, leaving the vent. "Probably heard or smelled a mouse or something. You know these animals aren't all that trained yet."

The first guard sighed before tugging on the leash of the creature. Gorman hadn't seen what it was, and he was afraid that if he did, his mission would have been screwed.

He waited a few more minutes, wanting to make sure the coast was clear. Then he crawled past the vent cover.

He realized he hadn't spoke to anyone in his unit in some time. It was too dangerous. He wished he could update them, but he trusted Valen to command them while he was out. He wished he could update Towers.

Gorman couldn't imagine how Towers must be feeling. He felt terrible for not being able to tell her that he was OK. It hurt, but he knew the only way to get back to her sooner was to complete the mission.

Climbing up another shaft, Gorman could hear the loud hum of fans in the server farm. He was getting close.

He lifted his night-vision goggles when he saw light coming from a vent cover. This was it. Just get in, search the computers for any plans of terrorism, and leave.

Gorman slowly and silently began removing his tools from their pouches, then paused when he noticed something moving outside the vent. He was near the ceiling, giving him a good view of the large room. A maze of servers hid whatever guards were in there, but Gorman could see two standing in a small area full of computer monitors. He only needed to get to one screen.

He watched the two guards. One stood in the center of the computers, a rifle in hand. He would turn occasionally, but otherwise didn't stray too far from that one spot. The second guard paced, holding the same weapon as his comrade.

Gorman had to take off the vent cover without them noticing. A challenge, yes, but not impossible. He watched the two guards, getting a feel for any patterns they might have. Then a third entered the area. He said something to the two that Gorman couldn't hear, and they all walked away. To where, Gorman didn't know, and didn't care, because he knew he might not have a lot of time to get this done. He uncovered a small torch, then pulled his undershirt over his face to protect from sparks when he set the torch against the edge of the metal cover.

A loud bang echoed through the room as the metal warped and shifted and the cover could no longer fit against the opening of the shaft. Gorman froze, thin trails of smoke swirling around him.

"What was that?" someone said.

Shutting off the torch, Gorman scrambled backward, dragging the now-loose vent cover with him. He covered the torch and slid it back in its pouch.

"Probably maintenance in the next room," another guard said. "Always making noise over there."

"Good point. Hey, go tell Caz and Tevi to get back from their lunch break. Two sons-of-bitches always take forever."

Gorman had to wait for the edges of the vent to cool down, not wanting to accidentally burn himself while crawling out. He cursed under his breath when the two other guards re-entered the area.

"Asshole thinks he can rush us," one of them was muttering.

"Just shut it and get back to your post, Tevi," the other said, sounding like he had heard this before.

"Right. Get back to pacing endlessly. Worst shift on the whole damn base."

Gorman watched them return to their previous spots. Caz went back to standing in the middle, while Tevi went back to pacing. He watched, and waited.

He slunk forward, and waited until Caz was almost under him. He let one heartbeat pass, then two, then draw his knife.

There was silence until Gorman landed on top of Caz. He brought the man down while driving the thin blade of the knife into the base of Caz's neck. Blood sprayed and pooled beneath him as Gorman severed the jugular vein.

"Jesus Christ!" Tevi raised his rifle. Gorman yanked his pistol from its holster, shooting Tevi first in the shoulder, then the chest.

Standing up, Gorman heard the thudding of boots on the floor as two other guards ran toward the commotion. He didn't hesitate to shoot both as they rounded a corner toward him, though one of them was able to fire off a few rounds, missing him entirely.

I can only hope no one else heard that. Gorman stepped over the bodies to get the door of the server room, slamming it shut and locking it. Hopefully, that would buy him some time.

Heart in his throat, Gorman kept his weapon out as he approached the computers. He pressed a button on his headset. "Valen, do you read me?"

"Yes, Gunny," Valen whispered.

"I'm in the server room. Locked the doors. Unsuppressed shots were fired, and I don't know if anyone else in this facility heard them. Start moving up." Gorman took a breath. "Towers?"

"Yeah?" Towers replied.

"Where are you?"

"Outside, where you left me."

"OK. Don't move unless I say so, alright?"

"Alright. Are you OK?"

"Physically, fine. Focus on yourself right now." Gorman released his breath. "Don't worry about me."

"Yes, Gorman," Towers replied.

Turning back to the screen, Gorman began digging into the system, trying to find anything hinting at a future attack by this group. There were hundreds of thousands of files, detailing everything from personnel to transactions within Seegson to-

Something familiar caught Gorman's eye. A name.

Two names, actually. He had heard the name "Sevastopol" many times. His heart pounded harder and harder against his ribcage, and he saw the second name under "Sevastopol personnel." Under "Marshal division."

Jethro Waits. Great-Uncle Jethro. Gran's big brother. Gorman didn't notice his jaw had dropped. It was tempting to look at his uncle's file. It was painfully tempting. Could this have any answers as to what happened to him?

His throat tightened. Anyone would tell him that it was pointless. His grandmother had passed and would never know what actually happened.

But, would he ever have this opportunity again? He couldn't take that chance.

A chill ran down his spine, and he opened the file.


2137

Someone had left a magazine on a desk in the Bureau. Waits growled to himself, thinking whoever-it-was had tried to sneak those damn pinups in here to look at while on the job. After confirming the Anesidora's crew had entered an airlock, he was ready to close up the Bureau for the night and go to bed.

Lingard would have to check over Marlow's crew when they left quarantine, so he wouldn't see her that night. A part of Waits was annoyed with that. He was looking forward to seeing her.

He angrily picked up the magazine, and was relieved to see it wasn't a dirty one; it was just a catalogue of stores on Gateway. His curiosity piqued, Waits flipped through it. Gateway seemed exactly how he thought; full of life and things to do. He gave a sigh of longing.

The page he turned to next was particularly interesting. Jewelry stores. Rings. More specifically, engagement rings. Waits knew that was going to be the first thing he shopped for when he arrived on Gateway. And recovered from post-cryo illness, of course. At least Lingard promised she would take care of him. At least they wouldn't have to keep their relationship a secret anymore. He knew he'd be far happier walking together in public and holding her hand. He felt like he could protect her.

The longing feeling began to ache. After leaving the magazine where he found it, Waits locked up the Bureau and headed up to his apartment. Alone. Lonely. The ache of loneliness was so familiar, but this time, it was laced with the sensation of missing someone. That made it hurt more.


To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA; Earth

From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station; KG-348 orbit; Zeta Reticuli System

Subject: Coming Home Soon

Hey, Em,

Not sure if you heard the news or not, but Seegson is closing down Sevastopol, which means I'm being moved again. I already requested for the guys on Gateway to get me a post, so, no, I'm not retiring. I'll be closer to you and Micah, though. I know that's what you've wanted. This is a win-win situation; I'm still working, you can see me more.

I'm not sure when the transport will come for the last remaining people here. Essential personnel were told to leave last. We have a few non-essential civvies left. Truthfully, I felt bad when they told me that they don't know where to go. Some of them had completely uprooted their families to come here. Why? Who the fuck knows. So they sold all their shit and don't have a home. All I could say is get on a ship to Gateway or LV-510 and figure things out from there. I could have gotten pissed with them for not making a plan, but I've been so tired the last few weeks that I just don't have the energy to get mad at anyone.

So, as of now, we're waiting for a couple more transports, then I'll be able to leave. Most of my bags are packed, and I won't receive my new orders until I reach Gateway. All I ask is that you wait to visit until I send you a message from the station, because I won't be feeling too good for the first few days out of cryo.

Keep this between you and me, Em; remember how I told you I'm dating one of the doctors here? Well, I'm thinking about marrying her. I really love her. She means the world to me, and I think it'd be nuts of me to not ask her to be my wife. We make each other happy, and I can't wait for you to meet her in person. I know you're happy I found someone. Late in life, yeah, but I guess that's how it was meant to be.

Hopefully, when you receive this message, I'll be in hypersleep en route to Gateway.

Lots of love,

Jethro


Question: How would the events of Isolation play out differently if Waits took command of quarantining the Anesidora's crew instead of Sinclair?