Ship's Log: March 10

Hawkes had just stripped down to his shorts, preparing to dress for his daily exercise routine before having dinner, when the klaxon sounded. He recognized its distinctive cadence immediately. It had never before sounded on the Sapphire Night outside of training drills, but he had heard it ring out on other vessels. The results unvaryingly ran from unpleasant to devastating.

Although off-duty, Hawkes pulled back on his uniform and sidearm. Glancing at his chronometer, he then rushed into the corridor. The majority of crewmembers he encountered were heading the direction away from the source of the alarm: the infirmary. Most of them got out of his way. The few who did not invited a sharp jab in the mid-section as he passed.

He reached the infirmary quickly, but slowed more than he would have liked by the press of crewmembers in the passageways. The alarm abruptly silenced. He glanced at his chronometer again. By his estimate, there were still eight minutes remaining before the end of the two-minute countdown. That meant that either the crew had managed to contain the situation or he had been off on his approximation of the time by several seconds. He seriously doubted the latter.

Thompson passed him suddenly, moving quickly. The First's jaw was tight in a way Hawkes recognized. He was given him only the briefest glance before Thompson exited into the corridor. Hawkes held grave concern over the next crewmember that got in Thompson's way.

He slowed his gait considerably. The emergency was apparently over, but continued through the infirmary. He noticed Lieutenant Banks leaning on one of the recovery beds. She seemed to look in his direction, but her eyes were dulled by sedation. Hawkes doubted that she recognized him—or much of anything in her surroundings at the moment—and resumed his way toward the corridor at the other end of the infirmary.

He found Fear, along with a security officer and two members of the engineering staff, outside one of the containment chambers. The hatchway had been forced open, with high-yield weapons fire from the look of it. There was considerable scoring on the outer bulkhead as well. Fear, despite her typically expressionless demeanor, appeared mildly shaken. There was something he could not immediately identify in her stance that told him that she had been directly involved in whatever had happened here. More sabotage? Another murder? he wondered. If so, the list of suspects was endless. Any number of crewmembers had reason to want Fear dead, but few he suspected held the nerve or ingenuity to attempt it. The price of failure would simply be too high.