Talking Man

CHAPTER SEVEN - AFT

While the first officer was foregoing oxygen for the sake of the scientists, Traver recovered his senses in his cabin. First he began to recognize the faces around him, and then the words coming out of them. Once he'd accurately processed his surroundings, the memories came back. Then he lurched forward from where Dr. Marin had sat him down. "Abrahim...Abrahim was behind me. Something happened in the corridor!" He stumbled up and pushed his way toward the door, which Lance and Karl dutifully blocked.

"Officer Akachi says we should stay inside." Karl's voice was shaking. "I think an accident might have happened."

"Maybe I can help. Maybe Abrahim needs a hand, and I can help!"

"Not in your condition. You have a mild concussion from the blast wave." Marin joined the others in blocking Traver's way to the door.

As if the doctor's newsflash made him aware of pain, he raised his hand to his head, grimacing as the adrenaline faded and the throbbing headache began. But when his hand brushed the back of his head and discovered the swaths of crispy or missing hair, his old vanity returned. Depression took hold of him faster than he could process the realization, and his body went limp.

"What happened?" he murmured over and over again, as his helpers pushed him back into his bed and strapped him in. They didn't have an answer for him.

The next three hours the passengers spent in silent bewilderment, waiting impatiently for an update. The scientists had been herded by Akachi into the doctors' quarters while the doctors now waited in Traver's.

Fletcher's first move had been to cut off the air to the entire aft section of the ship once Akachi had apprised her of the situation. Then she and her first officer spent the next several hours geared in their protective suits and masks, treading through the wreckage of the ship's aft and investigating each burnt out vent, each hot spot where the explosion had been at its most intense. They searched for the source of the explosion. When they'd found it, Akachi took pains to find all the remaining pieces of Dr. Abrahim Misleh, which he wrapped in a thermal blanket until something more permanent could be done with him.

Finally the intercom alerted all the passengers. It was Akachi, his voice more pert than they were used to hearing it. "Gather in the fore corridor. All passengers."

Sheepishly the passengers streamed out of their two remaining cabins. Nobody knew fully what to expect. The scientists, having at least seen the aftermath of the disaster, still had no idea what had gone wrong or what it meant. Those in Traver's cabin were even more lost in bewilderment. Traver's feverish mention of a "flash" was not sufficiently descriptive.

"There has been an accident."

Both Akachi and the captain stood at the cockpit's bulkhead door, while the thirteen other occupants of the vessel gathered in front of them. Some were nervously shaking, others were more stoic. By now all of them knew, or at least suspected through the power of rumor, that Dr. Misleh was gone. That was true despite the fact that none of the scientists, all too panicked and confused during their trip through the disastrous corridor, had spotted the corpse and recognized it for what it was.

As for Traver, he was calm now. He hadn't spoken a word for hours. He'd recovered from the shock of losing his hair, but behind his calm demeanor the moment of the flash was replaying. He'd pulled ahead of Misleh, then turned, then boom. He'd pulled ahead of Misleh, then turned, then boom. Could he have done something different? Could he have changed the outcome, stopped the explosion? Could he have saved Misleh? No. Of course not. But he could, yes, he could have died himself. He just somehow hadn't.

Fletcher spoke slowly, subdued anger making its way through her smooth and authoritative voice. "A fire originated in the medical bay. Probably the injection machine for the treatment of Eams, overheating or shorting out during a diagnostic routine. A spark got into the vent system and set the air on fire. Everyone on board, not only you passengers who were in the aft at the time, are extremely fortunate to be alive, and that the fire did not spread before it could be caught. Doctor Abrahim Misleh was not so fortunate, as he was standing in the corridor at the time of the blast. It would have been instant and painless."