That'll Do

When he heard the footsteps, Torrance froze. Imagining everything undone. A security detail, all riot gear and nonlethal weapons. Or would they even bother to subdue him? The world was on fire, after all. Nations and corporations and individuals squabbling for every last resource. The end of days, God’s new wrath against his people. And, just as the first time, salvation lay within an ark ship.

        But which one. Not all arks were created equally.

        Sitting at the terminal, Torrance listened to the approaching steps. Their slow pace seemed to mock him. He’d shut down the most obvious applications, but anyone with training would be able to backtrack over his trail.

        Then he heard the breathing, and a wave of relief washed over him. The heavy panting of an overweight man, and the asthmatic wheezing of the absurd companion he’d been saddled with. It wasn’t the inquisition. The senior crew hadn’t worked out what was happening. It was just the idiot nightwatchman making his rounds.

        The man put his head around the bulkhead. Brody Lukasz was a slope-shouldered butt just looking for a joke to belong to, his cheeks unshaven and his hair receding. He had a wispy moustache and weak, watery eyes and the uniform alternately stretched and creased across his body. He'd been army once, Torrance had heard. He’d certainly let himself go, if so.

        “All right there, Doctor T?” Brody asked, and then his partner came shuffling round the corner like an ill-timed punchline. Doris weighed more than Brody and carried most of it around her middle. She waddled on short legs that didn’t look as though they could carry all that swinging weight. She was the only member of the crew the uniform looked worse on than Brody, because in her case they’d literally dressed up a pig. The Awakened swine squinted at him, exhausted just by the effort of being there.

        Past Torrance’s stern façade he was delighted. It wasn’t as though Brody Lukasz was going to come check his comms logs or uncover his trojan programs. “Why no, Mr. Lukasz,” he said. “I have some heat exchange equations here that I’m having difficulty balancing. Perhaps you could pass your expert eye over them?”