Ship's Log: March 11

Hawkes stepped forward, stopping before the medical officer. Fear stared at him, her wide eyes bright with barely restrained anger.

"Sabotage," she stated sharply. "Malfunction of containment system."

Hawkes peered inside the chamber. Other than the wreckage of the hatchway, the interior appeared untouched. "Was there any damage inside?" he asked. He spied the uncovered body of the dead crewman. "Did you lose any evidence?"

Fear's gaze followed his. "No." Her eyes moved to the damaged hatchway. "Containment is no longer attainable."

Nodding once in agreement, Hawkes considered the situation. If the dead ensign's body had been harboring any biological agents, they had been released into the ship's environment now. He considered the likelihood of it as low, as Fear would already have scanned for such contagion and reported it. She would also have ordered a complete lockdown of the deck. The usage of the containment chamber for autopsies was usually done as much to prevent contamination of the corpses as for the reverse.

Hawkes turned toward the security officer. "You will remain here until relieved."

The officer seemed surprised, but acknowledged the order quickly. "Yes, sir."

Fear stared at him, apparently displeased at having an assigned bodyguard. Hawkes matched her gaze for a moment, silently indicating his determination before looking away.

"Proceed with repairs," he told the engineering technicians and then turned back to Fear. "You will continue the autopsy?"

The Aerian's expression was unreadable. "Yes."

Hawkes nodded his approval. He looked around once more, but decided that there was little else he could accomplish. Until they received detailed damage reports or the long-delayed results of the autopsies, they could only wait. He saw no reason not to continue with his off-duty activities. The duty officer could inform him if his participation was required.

"I'll be most interested in the results," he said. He paused a moment, but Fear's expression revealed nothing further. He turned and headed out of the infirmary.

Although the atmosphere in the corridor had eased considerably with the crisis over, Hawkes could sense a heightened air of unease. The recent murders and this latest act of purported sabotage were taking a serious toll on the morale and attention of the crew. He recognized a certain degree of uncertainty even within himself, but it had his companion for so long that he knew how to deal with it. Staying to his routine was his usual, best defense. Other actions could also be taken, if needed.

After returning to his quarters, he once again removed his uniform and dressed for his fitness routine. He found the exercise area deserted other than for a dark-skinned ensign he recognized from the engineering section. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Hawkes noted a thin scar along her right cheek, but more interesting were the thicker, rope-like lesions that crisscrossed her shoulders and upper arms. They were nearly the same color as her skin, which told him that they were quite old. He could tell that she knew that he was watching her by the careful way she avoided his gaze, but gave no other obvious sign.

Hawkes leaned against a bar that ran the length of the starboard bulkhead, stretching to warm up his muscles before to commencing his workout. After years of following the same routine, the motions were automatics, requiring only a minimum of his conscious attention. This freed his mind to consider other concerns.

Completing his warm-up, he positioned himself under a set of lifting weights. He gripped the metal shaft tightly, took a deep breath, and prepared to lift. He had barely begun to feel the strain on his arms when his vision went abruptly dark.