The Darwin Effect (2 page)

“My name’s Cromartie.” He nodded his head at his empty cryochamber. “At least that’s what my nameplate says.”

Sanders’ eyes darted to the two empty cryochambers that they had just come out of. She saw the nameplates and the busy computer panels at the top of each of the chambers. She saw the other four chambers that still had naked bodies suspended inside of them.

She looked back at Cromartie. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? What do you mean you don’t know?”

Cromartie shook his head. His throat hurt from the tube that he’d just pulled out. He cleared his throat as he looked at her. “I can’t remember anything.”

She stared at him, but she didn’t say anything.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked her.

She shook her head no. She looked down at her naked legs; they were still slick from the gel that she’d been suspended in. Her body shivered as she touched one of the plastic tubes still connected to the cryochamber, and then she touched the metal port in her skin that the tube was connected to.

Cromartie looked around at the cramped cryo-room. “Hello!” he called out.

Sanders tried to stand up, and her legs trembled with the effort like a newborn fawn.

“Hello!” Cromartie called out again. “Is anyone here? We need help!”

A computer panel on the opposite wall caught Cromartie’s attention—the screen changed from the company logo to a black background with different colored lights swirling around in a kaleidoscope of movement.

A soft-spoken male voice spoke to Cromartie from the screen, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere in the room. “Hello.”

Cromartie stared at the computer screen across the room. “Who are you?”

“I’m the Mainframe Automated Computer. You can call me MAC.”

“Where are we?”

“You’re on the ISF Darwin.”

“What’s that?” Cromartie asked. “What’s the ISF Darwin?” But for some reason he felt like he recognized the name. Something in his foggy memory was trying desperately to surface. He was sure he had heard that name before, but he just couldn’t remember from where.

“It’s a spaceship,” MAC answered. “It’s part of the International Space Fleet. This ship is called the Darwin.”

Cromartie felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “A … a spaceship?” He couldn’t seem to get his brain up to speed; he couldn’t understand what was going on here. “Why are we … what are we doing on a spaceship?”

“You’re part of the Darwin Mission,” MAC said in his calm and polite voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cromartie said, and he could hear his voice rising even though it hurt his raw throat even more. He could feel a wave of panic washing over him, about to take over. He couldn’t be on a spaceship. This couldn’t be happening. He had to get out of here. He had to run!

MAC didn’t answer the question, almost like the computer knew Cromartie had asked a rhetorical question.

Cromartie’s heart pounded in his chest. His breaths were getting shallow and quick. He was afraid he was going to start hyperventilating. He had to calm down; he had to get himself under control. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment. His face felt a little sore, most likely from the respirator and the goggles, but the same gel he had been suspended in also seemed to have been smeared all over his face and inside the respirator and goggles for lubrication. His skin was still wet and sticky from the gel in the chamber, and he was freezing.

He opened his eyes after taking those few deep breaths, and he felt a little calmer. He looked at the computer screen across the room. “I don’t remember signing up for a space mission. I don’t know how I got here. I … I can’t seem to remember anything.”

“You may have suffered some short-term memory loss from the cryosleep you were in,” MAC explained cheerfully.

“Short-term memory loss?” Cromartie said. “I can’t remember
anything
. Nothing at all.”

“It’s temporary, I assure you,” MAC said. “Your memories will begin returning to you soon.”

Cromartie got to his feet and he had to hold on to his empty cryochamber to balance himself. His muscles trembled and he had to wait a minute as a wave of dizziness passed over him. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out, but then the swirling dizziness subsided.

“What about these tubes?” Cromartie asked MAC. “How do we get these off?”

“Simply twist and then pull on the metal ports in your skin. The tubes and ports will pull right out. There will only be a small hole in your skin which should heal completely in four to five days.”

Cromartie twisted and pulled one of the tubes out of his thigh. The tube and the metal port came out together and the hole in his skin closed like a puckered mouth as soon as the port was pulled free. There were a few drops of blood around the closed hole, but the wound didn’t look red even though it was a little sore.

Sanders wasted no time in twisting and pulling all of the tubes out of her skin—it was like she needed to be free of the tethers. She crossed her arms over her chest after she was done, shivering from the cold. She looked up at the maze of ductwork, pipes, and wiring in the ceiling with wild eyes. “Clothes,” she asked MAC. “What about clothes?”

“You each have a room with a bed and bathroom on the lower level,” MAC said. “Once you leave this cryo-room, take the metal stairs down to the next level. All of the necessary clothing and supplies have been stocked for you in those rooms, and each room will have a name on the door.”

Cromartie yanked the rest of the tubes out of his body and tossed them back into the chamber where they coiled up on the floor. He threw the goggles in next, and then the slimy respirator with its attached tubing on top of everything else. He wanted those things away from him; he wanted them back in that steel and plastic cylinder where they belonged.

A loud buzzer sounded above the next cryochamber in line. And then there was a hissing sound.

Cromartie and Sanders turned to the next cryochamber. The bluish-green gel swirled around a man’s body, and then the fluid drained out. The man collapsed on the floor of the chamber. A moment later the door swished open and the man fell out onto the metal grates. Like Cromartie and Sanders before, he started to panic, pulling at his respirator and goggles.

They went to help him, and Cromartie glanced up at the nameplate at the top of the man’s chamber; it read: WARD.

“I
t can’t be true!” Ward roared.

Ward was an inch or two shorter than Cromartie, but a stocky twenty pounds heavier than him. He was a bear of a man with a bushy beard and long hair that was matted down now with the gel from the cryochamber.

“We can’t be on a spaceship!”

“Ward,” Cromartie said. “We all need to calm down.”

They were all out of the cryochambers now, all of them naked and cold and still wet from the gel. Sanders had helped the older man named Abraham with Butler, freeing the tubes from her body. Butler still seemed dazed and needed help. The last person out of the cryochambers was a man in his early thirties named Rolle. He had blond hair and a slightly darker beard. He was slightly built and still in shock as he looked around the room with watery blue eyes.

Ward stormed for the doorway of the cryo-room.

“Where are you going?” Cromartie asked him.

“This can’t be true,” he said over his shoulder. “This can’t be real.” Then he bolted out of the archway leaving wet footprints behind on the metal floor.

Cromartie looked at the others and then he went after Ward.

• • •

Cromartie found Ward on the lower level … on the bridge. Ward stood beside the captain’s chair which was situated in front of the other five chairs, all of them facing the large windows that angled down to the nose of the ship.

Ward stood there with his back to Cromartie, the gel from his body dripping down onto the floor as he stared at the plate-glass windows and the endless void of space beyond them.

Cromartie approached the man cautiously. “Ward?”

Ward didn’t turn around.

Cromartie got closer to the man, almost within arm’s reach now.

Ward continued to stare at the windows. He hadn’t moved a muscle so far, only his back rose and fell slightly with his shallow breaths.

“Ward?”

Ward swallowed hard, but he didn’t take his eyes away from the vast reaches of space in front of them outside the windows.

“Ward, are you okay?”

“It’s true,” Ward finally said. “We’re really on a spaceship, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Cromartie answered softly.

Ward was silent for another moment.

Cromartie looked behind him and saw the others gathering in the wide metal archway that led back out to the main corridor. Sanders and Abraham each held Butler gently by an arm, helping her walk. And Rolle stood near them, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the front of the bridge.

“I don’t see anything out there,” Ward whispered in a voice that was now eerily calm.

“What do you mean?” Cromartie asked as he looked back at Ward.

“I don’t see the Earth anywhere out there. Where are we? Where are we going?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Cromartie answered in a gentle voice. “We’re going to get cleaned up and dressed, and then we’re going to ask MAC why we’re on this ship.”

Ward’s eyes followed the plate-glass windows up to the ceiling which was full of pipes, cables, wiring, and ductwork … just like the ceiling in the cryo-room. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before shouting at it. “MAC! Why are we on this ship?”

“You’re part of the ISF Darwin mission,” MAC answered right away.

“You already said that,” Ward snapped. “Why are we here? How did we get on this ship?”

“I’m sorry, Ward,” MAC answered. “That information is unavailable at this time.”

“What do you mean, unavailable?” Ward asked, spittle flying out of his mouth as he yelled up at the ceiling.

MAC didn’t answer.

Cromartie glanced back at the others near the archway of the bridge, all of them trembling and wet, all of them naked. He looked back at Ward. “Come on, Ward. Let’s all get cleaned up. Then we’ll get together and try to figure out what’s going on.”

Ward finally looked at Cromartie. He was breathing heavily and he seemed like he was ready to explode with anger again. But he finally nodded and headed for the archway to the corridor.

S
anders hurried down the main hall, her eyes searching the doors recessed into the corridor walls until she found the door to her room. Her last name was stenciled on a brass nameplate just as MAC had promised.

She darted inside the room and closed the door. She tried to lock the door but she realized that there was no lock on the door handle. She left the door closed and headed right for the bathroom, right for the shower.

The shower seemed as claustrophobic as the cylinder she’d woken up inside of had been. She wasn’t a large person and the space was cramped even for her. The water pressure was weak, but at least the water warmed up after a few minutes. She found a few bottles of shampoo and a bar of soap wrapped in white plastic. All of the packaging was white and the names of the items were printed in simple black letters—no brand names, no happy designs or flowers, no list of ingredients or any other kind of information at all on the containers.

The shampoo and the soap smelled okay. But she really didn’t care about the scent right now; she just wanted to wash that sticky gel off of her skin. She stayed in the shower for twenty minutes, anticipating that the hot water would run out soon, but it didn’t. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed every inch of her body with the bar of soap. The gel residue was gone, but she couldn’t help not feeling entirely free of it.

As she stood in the shower thoughts raced through her mind. She had helped the man named Cromartie (must be a last name, she was sure) get the others out of their cylinders. They were all in shock, especially a woman named Butler who hadn’t even spoken at all. Everyone except Butler had questions; they were all confused and scared, all of them on the verge of panicking when Cromartie told them that they were on a spaceship. They all had many more questions after that, and they all wanted answers. But Sanders wanted to get that sticky gel off of her skin first, and she wanted clothes to cover her body.

What are all of us doing here? Sanders wondered as she stood under the weak stream of water in the shower. Like Cromartie, she couldn’t remember signing up for a spaceship mission. She couldn’t remember much right now, her memories seemed to be trapped in a fog. She knew her name, and she knew that she was from Los Angeles, and she knew that she should be carrying a gun on her right now, but that was about it.

First things first,
she told herself.
Get clean, get dressed, and then meet with the others in the kitchen to discuss everything.

After her shower, Sanders rummaged through a medicine cabinet that was recessed into the bathroom wall above the sink. Among the many tubes and containers of personal care products inside the cabinet and a large first aid kit, she found a white tube that had the word OINTMENT stamped on it in plain black letters.

She dabbed a little of the clear cream on each spot where a port had been stuck into her skin and the ointment seemed to soothe the wounds immediately.

Her body still felt weak, but she seemed to be regaining her strength pretty quickly. She wiped at the mirror and stared at her face for a moment. She recognized herself; she recognized her bluish-gray eyes and her blond hair that was wet and stringy now from the shower. She remembered some things about herself, and she could feel other memories beginning to float to the surface of the fog in her mind ... but she couldn’t remember why she was here.

It was only short-term memory loss,
MAC had told them.

She hoped so.

Sanders left her bathroom and walked over to a small closet that was tucked away in the corner of her small room. Inside the closet she found a stack of clothes folded up and sealed in shrink-wrap plastic. The cube of compressed clothing sat on a shelf and a pair of shoes that looked like sturdy sneakers were on the floor. There was nothing else in the closet.