don’t do this sort of work for free,” Finn said, handing his phone over to Dahl. “Normally something like this would have been a week’s pay. But this shit’s been weirding me out since that away mission. I wanted to see it for myself.”
“What are the two of you talking about?” Duvall said.
“I had Finn pull some records for me,” Dahl said. “Medical records, mostly.”
“Whose?” Duvall asked.
“Your boyfriend’s,” Finn said.
Dahl looked up at that. “What?”
“Duvall’s dating Kerensky,” Finn said.
“Shut up, Finn, I am not,” Duvall said, and glanced over to Dahl. “After he recovered, Kerensky tracked me down to thank me for saving his life,” she said. “He said that when he first came to in the shuttle, he thought he’d died because an angel was hovering over him.”
“Oh, God,” Hester said. “Tell me a line like that doesn’t actually work. I might have to kill myself otherwise.”
“It doesn’t,” Duvall assured him. “Anyway, he asked if he could buy me a drink the next time we had shore leave. I told him I’d think about it.”
“Boyfriend,” Finn said.
“I’m going to stab you through the eye now,” Duvall said to Finn, pointing her fork at him.
“Why did you want Lieutenant Kerensky’s medical records?” Hanson asked.
“Kerensky was the victim of a plague a week ago,” Dahl said. “He recovered quickly enough to lead an away mission, where he lost consciousness because of a machine attack. He recovered quickly enough from that to hit on Maia sometime today.”
“To be fair, he still looked like hell,” Duvall said.
“To be fair, he should probably be dead,” Dahl said. “The Merovian Plague melts people’s flesh right off their bones. Kerensky was about fifteen minutes away from death before he got cured, and he’s leading an away mission a week later? It takes that long to get over a bad cold, much less a flesh-eating bacteria.”
“So he’s got an awesome immune system,” Duvall said.
Dahl fixed her with a look and flipped Finn’s phone to her. “In the past three years, Kerensky’s been shot three times, caught a deadly disease four times, has been crushed under a rock pile, injured in a shuttle crash, suffered burns when his bridge control panel blew up in his face, experienced partial atmospheric decompression, suffered from induced mental instability, been bitten by two venomous animals and had the control of his body taken over by an alien parasite. That’s before the recent plague and this away mission.”
“He’s also contracted three STDs,” Duvall said, scrolling through the file.
“Enjoy your drink with him,” Finn said.
“I think I’ll ask for penicillin on the rocks,” Duvall said. She handed the phone back to Dahl. “So you’re saying there’s no way he could be walking around right now.”
“Forget the fact that he should be dead,” Dahl said. “There’s no way he could be alive and sane after all this. The man should be a poster boy for post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“They have therapies to compensate for that,” Duvall said.
“Yeah, but not for this many times,” Dahl said. “This is seventeen major injuries or trauma in three years. That’s one every two months. He should be in a constant fetal position by now. As it is, it’s like he has just enough time to recover before he gets the shit kicked out of him again. He’s unreal.”
“Is there a point to this,” Duvall said, “or are you just jealous of his physical abilities?”
“The point is there’s something weird about this ship,” Dahl said, scrolling through more data. “My commanding officer and lab mates fed me a bunch of nonsense about it today, with the away teams and Kerensky and everything else. But I’m not buying it.”
“Why not?” Duvall asked.
“Because I don’t think they were buying it either,” Dahl said. “And because it doesn’t explain away something like this.” He frowned and looked
“What are the two of you talking about?” Duvall said.
“I had Finn pull some records for me,” Dahl said. “Medical records, mostly.”
“Whose?” Duvall asked.
“Your boyfriend’s,” Finn said.
Dahl looked up at that. “What?”
“Duvall’s dating Kerensky,” Finn said.
“Shut up, Finn, I am not,” Duvall said, and glanced over to Dahl. “After he recovered, Kerensky tracked me down to thank me for saving his life,” she said. “He said that when he first came to in the shuttle, he thought he’d died because an angel was hovering over him.”
“Oh, God,” Hester said. “Tell me a line like that doesn’t actually work. I might have to kill myself otherwise.”
“It doesn’t,” Duvall assured him. “Anyway, he asked if he could buy me a drink the next time we had shore leave. I told him I’d think about it.”
“Boyfriend,” Finn said.
“I’m going to stab you through the eye now,” Duvall said to Finn, pointing her fork at him.
“Why did you want Lieutenant Kerensky’s medical records?” Hanson asked.
“Kerensky was the victim of a plague a week ago,” Dahl said. “He recovered quickly enough to lead an away mission, where he lost consciousness because of a machine attack. He recovered quickly enough from that to hit on Maia sometime today.”
“To be fair, he still looked like hell,” Duvall said.
“To be fair, he should probably be dead,” Dahl said. “The Merovian Plague melts people’s flesh right off their bones. Kerensky was about fifteen minutes away from death before he got cured, and he’s leading an away mission a week later? It takes that long to get over a bad cold, much less a flesh-eating bacteria.”
“So he’s got an awesome immune system,” Duvall said.
Dahl fixed her with a look and flipped Finn’s phone to her. “In the past three years, Kerensky’s been shot three times, caught a deadly disease four times, has been crushed under a rock pile, injured in a shuttle crash, suffered burns when his bridge control panel blew up in his face, experienced partial atmospheric decompression, suffered from induced mental instability, been bitten by two venomous animals and had the control of his body taken over by an alien parasite. That’s before the recent plague and this away mission.”
“He’s also contracted three STDs,” Duvall said, scrolling through the file.
“Enjoy your drink with him,” Finn said.
“I think I’ll ask for penicillin on the rocks,” Duvall said. She handed the phone back to Dahl. “So you’re saying there’s no way he could be walking around right now.”
“Forget the fact that he should be dead,” Dahl said. “There’s no way he could be alive and sane after all this. The man should be a poster boy for post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“They have therapies to compensate for that,” Duvall said.
“Yeah, but not for this many times,” Dahl said. “This is seventeen major injuries or trauma in three years. That’s one every two months. He should be in a constant fetal position by now. As it is, it’s like he has just enough time to recover before he gets the shit kicked out of him again. He’s unreal.”
“Is there a point to this,” Duvall said, “or are you just jealous of his physical abilities?”
“The point is there’s something weird about this ship,” Dahl said, scrolling through more data. “My commanding officer and lab mates fed me a bunch of nonsense about it today, with the away teams and Kerensky and everything else. But I’m not buying it.”
“Why not?” Duvall asked.
“Because I don’t think they were buying it either,” Dahl said. “And because it doesn’t explain away something like this.” He frowned and looked
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