Blood Impulse

Part 20.3 - NOTHING TO HIDE

18 hours later, Brimstone Sector, Battleship Singularity

Ask the ship, they said. It'll be easy, they said. Well, maybe it was her imagination, but Amelia was really starting to feel that this ship didn't like her very much.

"Amelia," Ron trailed after her, "you should really slow down. Remember what the doc said."

Oh right, she thought, what the doc said. The ship's doctor was a slouched-over, hostile officer who reeked of alcohol, and gnawed on unlit cigarettes. She'd been greeted by his horrific bedside manner the moment she'd woken up in those cheap scratchy sheets on a bed that was uncomfortably hard under her weight. The doctor was the reason she was down here, lost.

She'd been furious to find herself in the medical bay, trapped for hours and enveloped by the heavy taste disinfectant. The Admiral hadn't appeared or even sent a message. He, in fact, gave no indication that he had heard or cared about the injury she'd sustained during the ship's emergency maneuvers.

The ship's doctor had seen her frustration and frowned, the cigarette in his mouth drooping. Your father didn't tell you everything, he had said. He told you what suited his needs. If you want the truth, ask the ship.

Amelia resented the insinuation that her father had lied to her, but she knew things weren't adding up. She could see that. The lower echelons of this crew didn't speak of the Admiral like he was a monster. They spoke of a responsible officer whose real intentions were hard to define. They told her he'd ordered a search for a helpless fleet of refugees, much to the surprise of his officers. She knew that wasn't the action of remorseless killer.

But some part of her warned that his intentions for that fleet may not be as pure as they seemed, and she wanted the truth.

As Ron had explained the doctor's cryptic words, the truth was held in the ship's records. The archives would have the Admiral's full personnel record, including the results of his psychological evaluations, and any criminal investigations that had involved him – with or without a conviction. In that file, she should find the answers she needed.

But that only mattered if they could find the archives. And that was proving a bit... difficult.

Maybe it was her concussion's fault, but Amelia had never felt so frustratingly lost. Everything around her: the floor, the walls and even the ceiling was made of the same scuffed dark metal. She was trapped in the same bit of corridor that never seemed to end, stumbling along this never-ending maze.

Everything looked, felt, and even smelled the same. Near as she could tell, there was no way to distinguish one corridor from the others. "This ship is a death trap."

"It's not that bad." Ron reassured her. The crew proudly proclaimed that the Singularity had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet for combat injuries and accidents. Overall, that made it safe, as far as combat ships went.

Amelia just harrumphed. "We're going in circles."

"You don't say," came the comment.

Amelia pursed her lips, trying not to snap at the Marines that had shadowed her trek. "Why are you even here?"

"The CO has assigned you an honor guard, due to your injuries and lack of familiarity with your surroundings." It just so happened that on Cortana's shift, Amelia had been discharged from the medical bay and decided to go on this stupid field trip. It also just so happened that her entire shift had been shadowed by the obnoxious, insubordinate Marine cadet who had originally spoken. Stars, she hated this ship.