Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE
THE BIRTH AND DEATH OF A HEROINE

1921 HOURS GMT
NOVEMBER 7^th 2232
APPROX 1.21 BILLION KM FROM EARTH

DAY THREE

Commander Logan Grey emerged from the communications room; still discontented with their failure to make contact with Earth. XO Navigator Luke Hunter was there, by his side, shadowing his every move as they returned to the bridge where only half of the crew was present, the rest seizing the moment for a much needed break rest.

The two strode over nonchalantly toward the solar system map, a massive projected hologram which displayed their ship relative to the positions and movement of everything else. Gazing at the plotted course back home, Logan sighed, their ETA was no more than sixty days, but of course, the recent losses had elasticized and stretched those days, rendering the feeling of an hour to a day. He could only wonder how much longer his crew could handle this, drifting across deep space whilst devoid of any contact of home and sitting helplessly onboard a tentative, damaged ship.

Logan could not help but feel it as well. The doubting, the wondering—the growing despair. Morale was sinking, and neither he nor anyone else could deny that. It was as if Ilya Pirunov, Dr. Dale Maritz, and Dr. Hamesh Patel—all lost in the days before—were dying stars that produced a black hole, sucking every ounce of hope and morale they possessed.

“I know how it feels,” Hunter suddenly spoke, reading his superior’s thoughts through his eyes.

“What?” Logan asked, slightly perplexed.

“I used to be the skipper of a nuclear submarine back home. Our hull was compromised by enemy subs and we only managed to escape in time. An hour later, after finally losing them, our engines broke down and we were sitting ducks—‘cept we weren’t floating ducks, we were kilometres below sea level, where the pressure would crunch you into a tiny peanut in seconds.”

“What happened next?” Logan asked, with much curiosity as respect.

“We didn’t want to activate our transponders. I mean, sure, it would help rescue teams locate us, or at least let them know we weren’t dead, but obviously broadcasting our location to HQ also meant risking broadcasting our position to our enemies, who were pissed off as they were already,” The Chief Navigator averted his gaze out the transparent shields, to the endless expanse of blackness and stars, “We were all alone. Food supply would only last us a month. And so, we decided we’d wait that long. But, hell, we were far behind enemy lines,” his head bowed down, somewhat in fear, “It was only a week in when the crew started to get edgy...like they were possessed or something.”

A chill crawled up Logan’s spine, “...Why didn’t you just take the chance and send out a distress signal?”

“Sometimes you just have to roll your dice, and take what it gives you.”

Logan could only nod in response. “Hold on...so how was the crew?”

“To tell you the truth, it was like tossing a man into one of those mental institute cells, with nothing but four walls and your limbs all strapped to your body. If he wasn’t insane already, he will be,” Luke Hunter exhaled slightly, slightly shuddering as horrifying past experiences returned to him, “And you know what the scariest part was?”

Logan raised two eyebrows.

“We were trained not to go crazy.”

Commander Logan Grey fell silent for several moments, while Luke Hunter could only wince as memories surged back, wondering how he had managed to survive the ordeal.

“How long was it until your crew was rescued?

“Two months,” XO Navigator Luke Hunter answered coldly, launching Logan careening into a world of horrendous possibilities.

Silence immersed them once more; an ominous atmosphere settling into the room.

“Truly odd reactions occur when something goes wrong in a plan,” muttered Hunter, his tone grim; a hint of his past escaping his breath as he spoke, “Look, what I’m just saying is that the only way we’re going to get through this alive...is hope. Not oxygen levels, not engine statuses or speed and time—but hope... Take that away and you will have hell.”

Just then, the comm-room’s doors slid open, and Normandy walked out gingerly, appearing slightly suspicious—albeit he always did. The scientist moved in irregular patterns, his footstep distances varying in a very strange yet striking manner.

“Normandy! What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Just doing routine maintenance...and ensuring our communications transmitters are operating correctly,” Normandy replied quickly, rather defensively, “Give me some breathing space, Commander, that’s the least you could give me after cancelling years worth of planning this mission. Now I won’t get the data I need for my research on Titan.”

“It was not our fault an asteroid crashed into the ship, Normandy,” Hunter snapped back angrily.

“It is not our fault that our navigators, who are responsible for plotting the safest routes, set us on one that crossed paths with a colossal boulder travelling at thousands of meters per second?” The cunning scientist countered, leaving the navigator momentarily stunned, “I do hope you have an explanation for that, Mr. HUNTER.”

“Wh...what are you implying? That I intentionally set out for the asteroid to crash into the ship?”

“Don’t think I haven’t read your file, Mr. Hunter,” Normandy replied in a low, watery tone.

“Both of you settle down!” Commander Grey ordered, “Normandy, go, finish your maintenance.”

“Fine,” Normandy replied, executing his trademark grumbling as he left the room.

Luke Hunter walked over, standing beside the disciplined commander, and shook his head in disgust at the exiting scientist.

“You two are the only ones who have problems with each other in this ship. Everyone else gets along. Get it sorted out,” Logan instructed firmly, more than agitated of the two’s constant personality friction.

“Why is Normandy even doing maintenance for the comm-room? Engineering is in charge of that,” Hunter complained as he treaded off, returning to the solar system map, “Why can’t we just shove a sedative down his throat?”

The Commander opened his mouth to answer—but disaster struck.

Logan collapsed, his entire form crashing thunderously against the floor. Shivering profusely, without warning or known cause, he continued to cough out repeatedly, blood spraying all over the floor beneath him. The world around him spun rapidly, and, as the horrified echoed cries of worry poured all around him, everything turned black.

****************************************

Chief Medical Officer Erin Baker towered over the unconscious Commander, who lay unsettlingly motionless. If it were not for the constant, reassuring beeping of the machine that monitored his heartbeat, he would have been easily perceived as dead. Many others surrounded Logan Grey, some of which were on the verge of tears, who had known the man for many countless years.

“Will he be okay?” Jim Ramirez asked worryingly.

Medical Doctor Emmaline Yellow exchanged ambiguous looks with Doctor Baker, who could only give the relatively young pilot a hopeful nod.

“He is suffering from an extremely rare medical phenomena experienced in long distance space travel,” Doctor Yellow explained as she strode over beside Logan, her hand subtly resting on his, “We don’t have an exact term for it, but in short, it causes much of your internal organs to gradually fail.”

“How?” asked someone from the body of people.

“His heart, which pumps blood to the rest of his organs, experiences this very odd and abrupt mutation which, instead of only pumping the blood, ‘infects’ it with a formula that is simply incompatible with the rest of his system.”

“Then why not just give him clean blood?” Ramirez asked, “I’ll freaking do it!”

“No, like I said, his heart is mutated and pumps out infected blood that slowly kills his organs. His body cannot find a way to filter this out, and so therefore, the amount of infected blood is only increasing as we speak.”

“Well then, like I said, we give him a constant clean supply of blood. If that’ll make him live longer, why not?” Ramirez replied logically and hopefully, although his voice had a hint of gloom.

“Fools. You cannot simply drain blood and supply the commander with such for sixty straight days. You’ll all kill yourselves!” cried out Normandy from the back.

“Shut the hell up, Normandy!” Hunter yelled in protest, “Have some goddamned respect!”

“Everyone be quiet, please...” Doctor Yellow requested politely, her nearly tearful eyes hovering over the commander, her hand beginning to shake upon his, “Just...please.”

Silence settled for several minutes, until, when he no longer could take it, Ramirez broke the serenity, abundantly concerned about his superior.

“Isn’t there a way to cure him?”

Every medical officer traded doubtful expressions.

“There is one possible way, but it has never been attempted before, and could largely result in an enormous failure. Not only would it take Commander Grey’s life, but it would take another’s.”

A few stunned and baffled expressions in the sea of heads forced Doctor Baker to elaborate.

“It would take us a very huge blood transfusion operation, and...well...a heart transplant,” Erin Baker clarified, her words immediately painting sceptic expressions on every face, “As I mentioned previously, there is a seventy percent chance failure, and the donor will, of course, not survive.”

There were many onboard who loved the Commander, particularly after he had risked life before just to save theirs. If anything, specifically on impulse, most of the crew would leap to the commander’s aid, as he would to theirs, but this was a different situation. Here, they had the time to contemplate. Here, they knew the exact odds. Logan had gained much respect indeed, but every face harboured doubtful expressions, every face appeared fearful.

Every face but one.

“I will do it.”

The mere four words sparked utter astonishment in everyone.

“Are you serious?” asked Doctor Baker, her incredulous expression more than enough to match her disbelieving tone.

Doctor Emmaline Yellow nodded with little hesitation. “I will do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

Ramirez, still frozen with surprise, asked: “Why?”

“Personal reasons,” she replied, her eyes drifting back to the sleeping commander, clearly a sign of admiration—genuine sentiment. Her hand reached over and brushed his hair ever so slowly, a tear rolling down her weakened face, “I...just have to.”

Baker, after minutes of little breathing, finally nodded, “Okay, prepare the surgical equipment and the operation room. We don’t have much time.”

Every single person eyed Doctor Yellow with a concoction of incredulity and respect, staring as she descended to rest on the bed beside the Commander. How could someone do that?

Offering their final goodbyes, most of which were interrupted by a myriad of tears, the remaining crew left the room, leaving the only Emmaline, Logan and their private memories to echo quietly around them. Emma wondered if, despite his state of sleep, Logan could hear her. If, for the very slightest chance, Logan would be imploring for her to change her mind.

But she had to do it. Home was not 1,21 billion miles from here, but rather, here instead. Here beside him. Here, with his low breathing, where she could finally rest in peace. Emma lurched over slowly, whispering something into Logan’s ear, and then replaced herself on the bed, truly relaxing.

An hour later Erin Baker, visually reluctant, walked over, and asked Emmaline for any final favours she could do. Yellow only had one, which she whispered quietly to her friend. Baker nodded, wiped the tears from her eyes, and then readied the anaesthesia.

“Are you sure about this, Emma?” Erin Baker had to confirm for the last time.

Emmaline nodded slowly, turning her head to face Commander Grey. And as her mind was slowly drawn into her eternal sleep, a heartfelt, bittersweet smile formed across her face.

And through doing so, she had rolled Logan Grey's dice.