2175

Gorman stared at the images of his great-uncle on the screen in front of him. His grandmother was right; he really did look so much like her brother. They had similar facial features, and Gorman was struggling to remember the photo of his grandmother and Uncle Jethro after the latter's graduation from training, when Jethro was thinner. Dad has that photo. I'll ask him about it . . . My God, is this what I'll look like when I'm older?

Many of the photos under the Sevastopol file were dated 2135 or 2136. Jethro wasn't smiling in any of them. He was usually scowling, and Gorman could see his narrowed amber eyes. His father had amber eyes. Gorman had the gray of his mother. Despite his age, Jethro still had a full head of silver hair. His face gave the impression that he was well-fed, and Gorman tried to remember if the younger photo had showed his great-uncle with the same pronounced cheekbones he had.

Gorman kept going through the pictures, wondering why Jethro looked so depressed, and he closed his eyes, letting a conversation with his grandmother come to mind.

"He was always focused on whatever he set his mind to. Like his father. And he sometimes plunged too far and got himself hurt." The old lady smiled. "I can remember when he first tried fixing a part in his truck on his own, without his father's help. Couldn't find the piece and was so determined to have it done that he went out at a horrid hour to buy it. Walked, mind you. He was almost hit three times on the road. A bit reckless, but it's not like he never had the best interest at heart. He may not have seemed like it, but he was selfless. Crude, rude, not always pleasant, but he was selfless. He just had his own way of showing his love. He let his actions talk. Didn't make it easy for him to find a girlfriend, that's for sure. He was . . . very, very lonely. I think he just accepted it after awhile, poor Jethro. It took a lot to love him, but once he knew, he was the most loyal friend you could ever have. He loved so strongly. He'd never let you down. He'd risk his life for you. His crudeness, well, that was just his way of showing affection at times."

Gorman felt a hard pang of sympathy in his chest. He continued staring at one of the photos, and whispered aloud, "I wish I could talk to you."


2137

Waits couldn't figure out why he was having a hard time falling asleep. Something was nagging at him. That feeling of dread he had after letting that ship dock here. It persisted as he headed up to his apartment, and he wished he could discuss it with Lingard. Someone. Anyone. Just to make sense of it. He knew he had said that he never had a gut feeling that was wrong. A part of him wondered if it actually had nothing to do with the Anesidora. Maybe he was sensing Ransome would crash his breakfast with him and Lingard tomorrow morning. Again.

After almost an hour of tossing and turning, he sat up, rubbing his face and sighing. That was when he saw it, a light flashing on his computer. Groaning, Waits got out of bed, throwing on a pair of pants and his jacket before sitting in front of the computer.

The groaning stopped when he listened to the message from Lingard in front of him. Someone from the Anesidora carrying an unknown parasite? Sinclair let them through quarantine?

"Son-of-a-bitch," Waits growled. He returned to his bedroom, putting on the rest of his clothes before leaving the apartment. Just in case, he dashed down to the Bureau first to grab his revolver. Lingard sounded like she really needed him in her message. That alone pushed him to move faster. She can't say I'm slow now.

He grew increasingly worried as he rode the transit to SciMed Tower. The last thing he wanted to do was find out someone was hurting Lingard. Before stepping off the transit car, he gave his revolver another check. He wasn't going to hesitate to shoot if one of the Anesidora's crew had their hands on Lingard.

He pushed past his discomfort with the emptiness of San Cristobal when he entered the hospital. His hand was on his revolver, and his body was tense as he walked through the dark corridors of the hospital. It had been awhile since he been through certain parts of the hospital, and he never wanted to go through them again.

Lingard stepped out of a room, and quietly walked over to Waits. "You got my message?" she whispered.

"Yeah. What the fuck is going on?"

"I told you. The captain's wife-at least, that what he claims she is-had a suit breach on a moon not that far from here. Some spider-like creature broke into her helmet, attached to her face, and now . . ." Lingard took a breath, "I . . . I-I ran a scan, and . . . there's something . . . inside her chest."

"Lemme see."

Lingard led Waits into the room. The patient was sitting on a table with a man who looked less like a ship's captain and more like a bartender. That must be Marlow, Waits thought. The man's arms were covered in tattoos, and Waits didn't have time to study them as he followed Lingard. Morley was standing near them, looking over his shoulder at Waits and Lingard as they walked into a smaller room nearby.

The X-ray image was already on the screen of a large machine. Waits suddenly felt a coiling sensation in his own stomach as he stared at the long, worm-like creature curled up inside this woman's body. "Well . . . that's certainly the biggest fucking tapeworm I've ever seen."

"It's not a tapeworm, sweetie, I don't know what it is. There's no data in any accessible systems that can tell me what this is," Lingard replied.

"You're the doctor here, honey, you decide what to do. All I know is I'm gonna beat the shit outta Sinclair when I see him for letting this past quarantine."

Lingard lowered her voice. "I don't think they told Sinclair about this." She pointed to Marlow and the woman.

"Good point. Still, Sinclair's been doing shady shit for the last few months and someone's gotta make him pay for it." Waits looked back at the image. "Alright, so, what's your plan?"

"Take that thing out. Kill it if the removal doesn't. Dispose of it somehow."

"Sounds good to me. I'll beat on Marlow and Sinclair when you're done."

"Can you promise me you won't get yourself in trouble, sweetie?"

"Promise. I'll only beat on 'em a little bit." Waits grinned, then kissed Lingard on the cheek. "You know I'm only kidding around. I'll chew 'em out, but I won't beat 'em. Have fun."

Lingard resisted a smirk.

"Hey, do I get points for showing up as fast as I could?"

"Yes. You get a bunch of points. You get . . . I'll buy you an alcoholic milkshake when we get to Gateway."

"Aww, thanks." Waits leaned down to kiss her again when he noticed someone enter the room from the corner of his eye. "Fuck."

Lingard was looking down at the floor, and gripping Waits's arms. "I'm sorry. I had no choice-"

"Thanks for making this easy, Lingard," Ransome said, strolling up to the two. He looked at Waits. "And I don't want any trouble outta you, old fella."

"Kiss my ass. What are you doing here?" Waits snarled.

Lingard squeezed his arms. "Let him go, Waits. It'll make things easier."

"Just curious to see what you found here, Lingard," Ransome replied. He kept glancing at Waits. "Or were you just looking for an excuse to make out with your boyfriend while working?"

"God help me, Ransome, I'll beat your face into a pulp." Waits turned to lunge, but was held back by Lingard.

"Waits, stop!" She grabbed his face, looking him in the eye. "This isn't helping anyone! Relax, OK?"

Ransome seemed surprised at how Lingard got Waits to calm down, though there was still anger smoldering in the Marshal's eyes. "Perhaps your next job should be tamer of beasts, Lingard," he said.

"You're not helping, either," Lingard snapped. "I don't know what you want, but just . . . stay in this room, and don't kill each other. I have to help this patient."

She disappeared into another room to sterilize and put on a set of scrubs, leaving the two men alone. She knew that could spell disaster, but she trusted Waits. Despite that, she called for Morley to watch them while she performed the operation.

Waits looked out the window at the woman and Marlow, then back at the X-ray. Every time he looked at the image of that worm-thing, his stomach lurched. Unable to look at it anymore, he looked at Ransome. "You really got up at this shitty hour for . . . God knows why?"

"I'm a little surprised you're awake, too, old fella." Ransome gave Waits a look. "Didn't drink enough beer in the evening, I suppose."

Waits turned, but Morley gestured for him to stop, saying, "Don't even think about it. Lingard has enough to worry about without you two children fighting back here."

They could see Lingard prepping the patient through the window. Marlow was told to leave, and everything was silent aside from the random sounds from the machines.

Morley folded his arms over his chests. "Looks like a relatively simple operation," he said, half to himself and half to Waits and Ransome. "She should be out for an hour, maybe two. It-" Morley suddenly paled. "Dear God!"

Waits stood up. The patient had started convulsing and grabbing her chest as Lingard tried to administer anesthesia. "Morley!" Lingard shouted.

Throwing on a mask, Morley punched in a code on a keypad to leave the room. The door shut and locked behind him as he jogged over to the scene, which was growing more horrifying and unbearable to watch by the second. The room wasn't soundproof, and Waits could hear the woman screaming. He could see blood start blooming all over her clothes, though the scene was mostly covered by Morley and Lingard. He hardly noticed Ransome standing next to him. Blood had drained from the executive's face. Then Ransome jolted when they heard the snapping of the woman's ribs.

"Hold her down!" Morley ordered. "Get that anesthesia in-!" Morley was abruptly showered with blood erupting from the patient's chest.

Another scream, a very different scream, filled the room. It was small and inhuman. Covered in blood, Morley and Lingard watched something emerge from the woman's chest cavity. The worm.

Ransome gagged and turned, holding his stomach. He grabbed a tiny wastebasket, and knelt over it to vomit. Waits's stomach was empty, and he was too shocked to move or pay attention to the feeling of dry heaves moving up his throat. He didn't notice he had stopped breathing while watching this awful scene play out in front of him.

The worm screeched, showing the two doctors its sharp little teeth. It turned toward Lingard, and Waits swallowed his nausea. The little shit's gonna hurt her! He grabbed the handle of the door, trying to force it open. He didn't know the passcode to let himself out; only Morley or Lingard could do that. Breathing fast and hard, he banged on the door.

"Waits, it's running away!" Ransome had trails of vomit running down his chin as he watched the worm slither from the woman's chest. It landed on the floor with a wet slap, blood spattering around it, then darted away.

"Son-of-a-bitch! I'm gonna kill it! I'll tear it apart!" Waits snarled through clenched teeth. He kept pressing on the door handle. "Lingard!"

He went back to the window, seeing Lingard standing by the table in shock. She looked like she wanted to cover her face, but couldn't because she had blood all over her.

Silence fell over the room, broken once by Morley. "She's dead."

It all happened so fast. So unbelievably fast.

"Lingard?" Morley said. "Let's . . . Let's . . ." His voice trailed off. He, too, was in shock, unsure of what to do next. He glanced up when he heard the sound of someone jostling a door handle. "Clean up, and go to Waits."

Hands shaking, Lingard headed back to the smaller room to get clean. Waits watched, and tried to be patient. His heart was still racing and he still couldn't believe what he just saw. His mind was struggling to get a grip on itself.

The door finally opened, and he grabbed Lingard in a hug. "Sweetheart . . ." He took a breath. "Sweetheart, are you OK?"

Lingard didn't respond. She was holding Waits as tight as she could, her face buried in his jacket, sobs muffled.

"You did what you could," Waits whispered, pressing her against him. He rubbed her back, gently rocking her back and forth. "It's OK. It'll be OK, sweetheart." His heart was still pounding. His focus was on comforting Lingard. He hugged her tighter and tighter. "It's OK . . ."

Ransome left the small room, face still covered in vomit. His eyes followed the trail of blood left by the worm, and pointed to it. "I hate to interrupt your cutesy little moment here, but what the hell are you going to do about that, Waits?"

"First, I'm going to order you to leave," Waits replied, still holding Lingard. "I gotta get this shit taped off, and I don't want your ass interfering."

"As Seegson's head-"

"You have no power here, Ransome," Waits growled. "This has nothing to do with you. Get out of San Cristobal. I want everyone out of San fucking Cristobal."


2175

Gorman glanced toward the doors, wondering if the stray gunshots really hadn't attracted any attention. He looked back at the screen, looking through the photos of his great-uncle. He paused when he came to a photo of Jethro and a woman. The woman was dressed in a doctor's uniform, and she was snuggled up next to Jethro in what looked like a photo booth. They looked . . . happy.

The photo was attached to a message from Jethro to Esmeralda.

"Forgot to wish you a happy birthday, Em. Got busy. Hey, I managed to get something for you. We went down to the mall and decided to just mess around in a booth here. The lady in the picture is Dr. Lingard. You wanted a picture, and she was OK with taking one. We've been doing good. It's been about a year since we started seeing each other, you know, romantically. I'm happy, for once in my life. I really love her, but I've been struggling with telling her that. You're the only person who'd understand that it's not because I don't actually love her. My actions have said it, but I know I need to say it with words. Might take awhile, but I'll say it eventually."

Gorman looked toward the doors again, then looked back at the computer. He felt something seeing his great-uncle looking happy, rather than dour and sad and annoyed. It made him wish even more that he could meet Jethro. He wanted to sit down with the man, talk to him, get to know him.

His whole body tensed and his ears pricked when he heard a scratching sound. It sounded like claws clicking against the tile of the floor. Wait . . . claws?

Gorman picked up his gun. He could feel sweat forming inside his gloves as he looked around. Then he saw it.

There was a soft sound, followed by a rustling, then he looked up to see something perched on top of one of the servers. A creature. A large creature that resembled a mouse, but crossed with something carnivorous. Its dark-blue eyes stood out against black fur. Behind it, a tail lashed back and forth, and it looked down at Gorman, studying him in a predatory manner. It didn't move a whisker; only the tail moved. Long claws tipped its paws, which bore a resemblance to human hands, somewhat.

Gorman had dealt with attack dogs, but not . . . this. He knew he should never look a dog in the eye, but what about this thing? A heartbeat later, he realized he was making eye contact with it, and it hadn't moved.

Then its jaws parted slightly. He could see its tongue move forward between the sharp front teeth. A second later, it let out an ear-splitting screech, and lunged toward Gorman. Raising his gun, Gorman fired a single round into the creature's chest. It continued to scream as blood began gushing from the wound, as it landed on top of Gorman. It wasn't going down without a fight.

Gorman fired again, and the animal grabbed his left arm in its jaws, sinking in its teeth. It pinned his head to the floor with one strong, clawed paw. Biting back a scream, Gorman yanked his knife from his belt, plunging it into the creature's neck. Blood poured onto him, and he pulled the knife out while pushing the fresh carcass off his chest.

Pain seared through his arm. He needed Maxie, but calling his squad would trigger a fight. It wasn't like the rest of the facility's personnel had gotten wind of this. Then again, it was only a matter of time before they did. Gorman struggled to weigh his options through the pain, and then an idea struck him. He went back to the computer, the files on Jethro still open, and pulled a drive from one of his pockets. I can just download all this and look at it at home. I need to get back to the task at hand.


2137

Lingard ordered Morley to start moving patients out of the hospital once Waits made it clear San Cristobal was going under lockdown to find that worm. Moving patients wasn't going to be easy, and Morley made that clear.

"Most of the patients still here can't be moved from their rooms," he said. "We're still waiting for those transports. Waits, you can't-"

"You're gonna have to find a way," Waits interrupted. "We don't know what the fuck that creature can do, and we don't want it hurting whatever patients are left here. Do you have any portable life support systems?"

"Yes-"

"Then use them. I got nothing else for you, Morley. Get everyone out. This shouldn't take very long."

Once Morley headed down one of the halls away from the bloody operating room, Waits was completely alone with the woman's corpse. He tried not to look at it. Once in awhile, he did.

He had seen mutilated bodies before. He would never deny that, nor would he deny that he didn't handle witnessing his first death well. He had seen alien fauna kill people in a myriad of ways, tearing them apart and flinging them like destructive children with ragdolls. But he had never seen what he just saw before.

His thoughts were interrupted by Marshals Turner and Garcia entering the room. He struggled with putting on a more neutral face, the face of someone everyone was looking up to, the face of a leader.

Waits looked down one of the hallways, seeing Lingard holding a clipboard. She looks up to me all the time. If there's anyone I can't let down, it's her. Her and everyone else on this station. He stood up to approach his team. "Alright, the little piece of shit can't have gotten too far. Are we aware of what we're looking for?"

"You mentioned it resembled a large worm with teeth," Garcia replied. "How large are we talking, sir?"

"About a foot long, maybe a little bigger. I don't think those fucking teeth were for show, so let's not do anything foolish with it. Don't hesitate to shoot it." Waits gestured to the trail of blood. "Gruesome as it is, we can thank it for making it easy to follow it. We'll go in the vents if we have to." It took a moment for Waits to realize what he just said. He hated getting in small spaces, like vents, and it certainly didn't help that it was steadily getting harder for him to do intensely physical activities. Well, if I said we'll do it, I have to do it, too.

Armed with their revolvers, a net, a flashlight and a motion tracker, the three men followed the blood trail down a hallway leading to a storage unit full of sterilized equipment. Sorry we just contaminated all your tools, honey. Waits sighed, shining his flashlight around the small room. He could see his breath in the cold air, and he noticed something change in the blood trail. It looked like the creature had stopped in farthest corner of the room, then quickly changed its mind to go-

"Into the vent," Waits mumbled. "Shit." He led Turner and Garcia over to the entrance of the vent, which automatically opened when Waits knelt in front of it. Upon sticking the flashlight into it, he could see the blood trail continued. "I'll go in," he said. I said I'd do it. I have to do it.

It really had been awhile since he did anything this physical. Perhaps if he had known Sevastopol was this quiet, he would've said "no" to this job. He tried to suck in his gut without either of the other Marshals noticing as he crawled into the vent. Once the vent closed behind him, Waits found it hard to breathe with the smell of blood and something foul.

It didn't take very long for Waits to feel a dull ache throb in his lower back. He shined the flashlight in every direction, and he started to feel dizzy with the lack of air.

Fuck, this is so small . . . or all the extra cheesecake slices are catching up. Waits continued to slowly move forward, the dull ache spreading to the rest of his body from the epicenter in his back. He couldn't keep crouching like this for very long.

Something created a strangely shaped shadow against the metal of the shaft. Waits got on his knees and noticed a dark lump on the bottom. He aimed the light on it, and grimaced. It was a pile of yellowish skin, crinkled and ripped. He refused to touch it, uncertain of what was on it, so he pulled out his baton, prodding at it and lifting it slightly.

He came to the conclusion that the creature had shed its skin like a snake. This soon after birth? Perhaps it was just removing whatever placental fluid was left on its body. Regardless, it was disgusting, though not nearly as disgusting as how that creature came to be. It used that woman as a host. Waits had a lot of questions, and no answers in sight. A part of him didn't care; he wasn't curious about the inner workings of this creature. All he cared about was killing it before it hurt anyone, or worse, did to someone on the station what it did to that woman.


Question: Out of all the Marines in the squad, who would Waits have the easiest time getting along with?