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The question hung in the air and Demian instantly knew that it would keep bugging him long after he would finish his beer. Would haunt him past the second, third and, perhaps, even fourth can; in the shower, in the swimming pool, whenever he’d look into the mirror. Whenever he’d see, or touch, or simply become aware of his body. And, without any exception, whenever there was a newcomer-cadaver in the morgue.
“Yeah, bodies… so where do all the bodies go?”
His fellow crewmember, Rory Manion, was looking at him almost innocently. Demian cleared his throat and gave his forehead a good rub. “Hnnn…ehmm… I… well… what do you mean, man?”
“Ah, you know. Your place is sometimes so packed, I’d say one should reserve a table to get there. Ba-dum-tss! Where do the bodies go after they are done with? In a wormhole, just like our mimics?”
Demian presided over the morgue, and it HAD been packed recently. Volunteer testing did not always go as planned. Or, on the other hand, maybe it did… Clearly, from what he could see, and read, and note, not all the testing could end well. And definitely not to the point where they would live happily ever after.
“I fill the registers, all the usual autopsy paperwork, and then… basically, as we get more or less full, Morgan and Kelstrup oversee the disposal. Maybe, once a week. I am never there, actually, because it’s always after hours. Those workaholics,” he screeched, but there was a strange tone of disbelief to his voice. Why had he never wondered?
Rory stretched and yawned. It came out pretty naturally – it was late, indeed. “We should ask Mikhaila. She’s literally overseeing this station, she must know where the dumpster is.”
“Hope you’re joking.”
“Yeah, I know, the clearance.”
“Yeah, the clearance.”
They wished each other goodnight, but Demian Linn, Talos’s forensic xenobiologist, wasn’t really sure he’d sleep well.
______
It wasn’t an ordinary senior leadership team meeting, there were only four of them in the Thorstein’s private room in Crew quarters, and even that was too much for the limited spaces the private rooms could offer. Space was vast, but the habitable part of it still was considerably tiny. Big projects called for few ears and so the Yu twins managed to bring the necessary parties together in a small room outside of working hours to discuss minor but crucial arrangements.
“How far has your team progressed with the recycling chamber tests?” Hans Kelstrup was as sweet as his canned pears that he had been exclusively ordering from Earth for as long as he had been on Talos-1. Every delivery shuttle had them, or else… no, seriously, Hans Kelstrup was better loved when he was happy and content.
“Considerably,” in line with his Nordic decent, Jorgen Thorstein was iconically laconic. “Depending on what you are intending to put into it…”
“Bodies,” Kelstrup kept smiling.
Morgans exchanged glances. They both did some preliminary field work with both of the department heads to prepare them for the conversation. It was assessed as being so good so far.
“I had a feeling you had your own morgue, Hans,” Thorstein wasn’t parrying his colleague, not at all, but the whole idea was not perfectly clear to him. Jorgen Thorstein had never been down there in Psychotronics.
“We do,” intervened Morgan. “But, you see, it might get… full. Sometimes.”
“Not all tests run exactly as they are supposed to, if you get my meaning, of course,” added Kelstrup.
The second Morgan, the sister, was trying to read into the face of the Hardware labs director. He was a tough man, very straight to the point, so unlike sleazy Kelstrup. And they shared a very mutual admiration and respect. Jorgen Thorstein was milder, calmer and… more of a human than said Kelstrup, for example. Which is why asking him for help in this case was a bit discomforting to her liking. But she told her twin she’d help and she was indeed going to:
“Jorgen, how difficult is it to install one more recycling chamber on the Psychotronics level, perhaps, close to the morgue? Happy to oversee that.”
He cast a brief glance on her, and she knew there was an approval to follow. However, negotiations came first:
“That’s fine. But I would like to oversee it personally, then,” he said, trying to return the sweetness of Kelstrup’s smile. “And to have a full tour of Psychotronics department at that.”
Brother and sister gave each other a quizzical look, then silently agreed on something and nodded. Whoever was doubting the existence of almost mystical bond between monozygotic twins, would have all their doubts crushed into fine space dust when seeing Morgans understanding one another without even a single syllable uttered.
“We can get this clearance for you from Alex, Dr Thorstein, if that means a yes,” summed it up the Yu brother.
“You have my word, Mister Yu. And you’ll have your recycling chamber,” nodded Thorstein.
The sister was keeping silent, her mind frantically working on some solutions to the situation, as all of them got to their drinks finally.
That was a bargain. Done.
____
Morgan wasted an ungodly amount of time trying to convince Jorgen Thorstein to give in to the power of the neuromod. No matter what she was saying, he wouldn’t give in, so, the people of figures as they were, they simply did the usual pros and cons exercise. The pros, however slightly, did outweigh the cons only in the general, Transtar understanding. It was useful, from a company’s perspective, when you could make a person forget the unsightly. It was less appealing from an individual’s perspective when you thought about the neuromod extraction – aside from it not being a pleasant procedure, that Jorgen didn’t want to go through, at all, it would only make sense to him in case he’d choose to forget his Psychotronics visits. Should he choose to extract the neuromod later… the memory loss of everything in between would be completely uncalled for and irreparable.
In the end, he refused. And signed another strict NDA.
Did he regret it?
Jorgen Thorstein had never seen a mound of bodies, although many fantasy books would describe it vividly, just like Haudh-en-Ndengin, The Hill of the Slain, in Tolkien’s writings. But if he had to picture one, he would take the sight before him for a reference.
They weren’t many, and yet they were. He had never seen so many dead bodies at the same room at the same time. Some covered with a white or bleak greenish cloth, some still wearing the volunteer uniform. Disfigured faces, eyes open in fear, broken necks, limp legs, charred hands. Someone’s hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder. On turning around, Dr Thorstein was surprised to see Alex Yu.
“How are you holding on?”
The member of the crew, introduced to him as Demian Linn, was doing the inventory, checking the tags on the cadavers against his tablet. Nothing in this man’s behaviour was signalling that it was an unusual sight. It was a routine. The Psychotronics routine looked so much different from the Hardware labs. Dr Thorstein suddenly felt that they had more life in their part of Talos-1, than this creepy place, even the machines, the operators, the assembly lines, they felt alive now.
“Not bad, not bad, thank you, Mr Yu,” Jorgen hurried with reply so that not to plant any odd thoughts into Transtar President’s head.
“Do you know that Morgan said she chose Hardware labs, because the person who ran it was the most straightforward and honest person in space and that was a breath of fresh air in vacuum? And here you are straightforwardly lying straight into my face. How are you holding on, Dr Thorstein?”
“Honestly? Like shit.”
“That’s more like it,” Alex nodded. “So do you regret refusing the neuromod now?”
“A little.”
Alex gave him a wry smile: “Thank you for persevering, then. I am pretty sure it won’t serve as much of a reassurance now, but on a long run… It is not in vain. Far from it. I just want you to remember it, Jorgen.”
They were the pioneers of the frontiers. Whatever the frontiers.
Whatever Transtar did was, of course, for the greater good.
_____
“So,” the odd word had so much weight in it, in the way Rory said it. They had another round of beers in between them and a usual argument about why and how mimics did what they did. Rory came up with a new idea today that he had yet to pitch – magic.
“So what?” Demian popped a can open and made a big, long gulp.
“The bodies problem. Did you learn what they do to the bodies?”
Demian never knew it was on an agenda again, but he simply shrugged and said:
“I don’t know? Probably, recycle.”
“Mmm, yeah, you’d better double check your lunch meat then!” roared Rory and heavily planted the beer can on the table. “Joking, joking. Anyways, back to mimics, I say it’s magic. Hear me out…”