Steven McDonald - Event Horizon

DJ was mooching about on the bridge, a scalpel in his hand that he was unconsciously flicking against the leg of his flight suit. Miller could not figure out how DJ had so far failed to draw blood.

“Carbon dioxide poisoning produces hallucinations, impaired judgment—” DJ

was saying.

They had been around this particular track once already, trying to put Miller’s vision into some sort of psychological pigeonhole. “Goddammit, DJ, it was not a hallucination!” Miller turned to Weir, who was staring blankly at the two of them. “Dr. Weir, you were in the duct, you heard it.”

“No,” Weir said. His voice sounded rusty.

“You must have seen something.”

“No,” Weir said. His expression never changed. Miller knew he was lying, but he was not sure that Weir was lying about what Miller had experienced. “I saw nothing.”

“I did,” Peters said.

They all turned to look at her. She looked from one to the next, looking uncertain.

“About an hour ago,” she said. She looked at DJ, apologetic. “In Medical. I saw my son. He was lying on one of the examination tables and his legs were…”

She trailed off, working to contain her emotions.

“Isn’t it possible,” Weir said coldly, “that you were traumatized by finding the body on the bridge?”

Peters’ head snapped up and she gave him an angry glare. “I’ve seen bodies before. This is different.”

“Peters is right,” Miller said, folding his arms and looking down at Weir.

He wondered what the scientist had seen in the duct, if he had seen anything at all. “It’s not like something in your head, it’s real. Smith, what about you?”

Smith was leaning against the hatchway, his arms folded and a troubled expression on his face. To Miller, he looked about ready to bolt from the Event Horizon at a moment’s notice.

“I didn’t see anything,” Smith said, truculent, “and I don’t have to see anything. But I’ll tell you something—this ship is fucked.”

Weir turned to look at Smith, a dismissive expression in place. “Thank you for that scientific analysis, Mr. Smith.”

Miller could have kicked Weir for his blatant attempt to provoke Smith. All they needed now was a physical battle, not that Weir stood a chance of bringing Smith down.

“You don’t need to be a fucking scientist to figure it out!” Smith yelled, taking a step toward Weir, who regarded the pilot with a stony expression.

“Smith!” Miller growled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw DJ moving closer to Smith.

Smith ignored his captain. “You break all the laws of physics,” he snarled at Weir, “you think there won’t be a price? You already killed the last crew—”

DJ reached out and put a hand on Smith’s shoulder.

Ah shit\ Miller thought. Of all the moves DJ could have made.

Smith swung around in a flash, slamming DJ back. DJ twisted away, grasping Smith’s flight suit with one hand, using the pilot’s momentum against him.

Continuing his movement, DJ slammed Smith up against the bulkhead, not attempting to soften the impact.

His hand blurring, DJ raised the scalpel, pressing the tip of it just below Smith’s ear. Smith froze in place.

“DJ!” Miller yelled, crossing the bridge. He would never have expected this sort of thing from DJ, certainly nothing as fast as this.

DJ took a deep breath, shuddering. He let the scalpel fall to the deck as he stepped back, releasing Smith. DJ looked helplessly at Miller, at Smith.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t know why I did that.”

“Carbon dioxide,” Weir said, his tone sarcastic.

Smith lunged at Weir, fists swinging. The scientist flinched back. “He’s fucking lying! You know something—”

Miller got in front of Smith, grabbed him by the upper arms, squeezed.

“That’s it, that’s enough for one day, Smith!” He glared into the pilot’s eyes, giving him a look that threatened to shred the younger man on the spot.

“I need you back on the Clark, I need you calm, I need you using your head.

You make a mistake out there, nobody’s getting home, you understand?”

Smith had started to try shaking Miller off, but the litany and the expression stopped that. Smith seemed to want to look everywhere but at his captain, but, in the finish, he met Miller’s eyes. Miller was glad to see Smith cooling off, even relaxing a little.

Finally Smith said, in a calmer voice, “Sir.”

“We’re a long way from home and we’re in a bad place,” Miller said, letting the pilot go. “Let’s not make it worse.”

Miller shook his head. He needed a few minutes to walk off the anger and the growing stress. Without saying anything more, he left the bridge, finding his way into one of the corridors that lined this end of the ship.

He was aware of Starck following him. Unfinished business, probably, most likely something he ought to take care of. He wanted nothing more than a couple of minutes alone, but he was not going to get that.

“Miller,” Starck said.

Miller did not break his pace, merely kept going, determinedly hewing to his course to nowhere. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve been studying the bio-scan,” she said, hurrying to match pace with him, “and I’ve got a theory.”

Miller raised an eyebrow. “Proceed.”

“I think there’s a connection between the readings and the hallucinations, like they were all part of a defensive reaction, sort of an immune system—”

Miller increased his pace, still avoiding looking at her. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Starck pushed her pace, trying to keep up with Miller. The effort left her almost running to match Miller’s long strides.

“You’ve got to listen!” she said.

Miller’s course had taken them through the ship into an airlock bay. Miller stopped abruptly, causing her to stumble. He turned to face her. ‘ To what?

What are you saying? This ship is alive!”

Starck shook her head. “I didn’t say that. I said the ship is reacting to us. And the reactions are getting stronger. It’s getting worse.”

Miller was breathing hard, trying to examine the concept rationally, unable to fathom it. “Starck, do you know how crazy that sounds? It’s impossible.”

Her stare was unwavering. “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Miller looked at her for a long time, silent. Finally, he said, “Don’t tell anyone what you just told me.”

Time passing. The lights flickered throughout the ship.

Smith had left the Event Horizon.

A dark sensation swept through the ship. If Miller had been willing to accept the notion, he might have thought the ship was breathing, displaying signs of life.

They were all becoming afraid of the Event Horizon, Weir thought, sitting at the gravity drive workstation. Miller was barely talking, and Starck was constantly glancing around herself, always checking the corners as she moved.

Peters had returned to Medical, but she had been frightened, either for Justin or of what she might see.

DJ and Starck were still on the bridge. DJ was scraping blood samples from the bulkheads, being as thorough as possible in the time they had left. Starck was trying to make herself useful, but between the lack of communication and the difficulties with the bio-scan, she was frustrated and angry. She had chased off after Miller, obviously with something on her mind. She had returned to the bridge looking even more frustrated than before.

For his part, Weir had settled down with the gravity drive workstation and a nice embedding diagram. It rotated slowly on the display in front of him, while he gazed at it, unraveling the intricacies of it in his mind. The funnel-shaped wireframe image could tell him a great deal, under normal circumstances. For the moment, it was not telling him anything he did not already know. It was hard to concentrate right now. He could not get the image of Claire out of his mind. Old wounds had opened up again, old nightmares.