George sat alone in the mess hall with a bowl of instant noodles. There were other people in the room, but when George had decided to sit, he had, as he always did, sat at the small table in the corner away from everyone else. He faced the wall and did his best not to hear what other people were talking about. This was, he told himself, his way. He was a lone survivor, and had little interest in making friends, and a special interest in not making any more friends here.
Unfortunately that special interest didn't extend to Molly. She'd started at the base shortly after the Markham incident six months ago, which the company had made clear was absolutely a part of his non-disclosure agreement, and wasn't to be discussed with anybody else, either on the base or off. George had the pleasure of picking Molly up in the Bell and bringing her to the base, and she had immediately decided that they were going to be friends, regardless of George's wishes.
At first, he found her irritating. She was young, barely thirty, and of a generation that, in George's eyes, held onto childish things for far too long.. She spoke too fast, smiled too much, and was prone to touching his arm when she talked, which made him incredibly uncomfortable. Despite the things, like a fungus, she grew on him, and now the best days were the ones when she left the larger group in the cafeteria and came to sit and talk with him. He always maintained his surly attitude with her, because heaven forfend anybody should think he could smile, but inside the deepest recesses of his aging, blackened, unhappy heart, despite the fact that her skin was the wrong colour, and despite there being no chance that this strange, childish woman could ever reciprocate the feeling, George Shipley, for the first time in his long life, was the tiniest bit in love with Molly Patel.
As he sat, hearing her voice and her laugh from behind him, he sincerely hoped today would be one of the days where she came to see him. He nursed his noodles with his fork, trying to eat slowly so that it wouldn't look like he'd be leaving soon if she came over. He heard approaching footsteps behind him, and a hand rested on his shoulder. It didn't belong to Molly Patel.
"Captain Shipley, Doctor Donaghue would like to see you in his lab." It was Steve... something? He was one of the other replacement researchers brought in to replace the Markham team after... that whole thing. George hadn't bothered to remember his name.
"I'm eating. Fuck off."
"He said it was very urgent. Please come with me." Steve's grip on George's shoulder tightened.
"Listen buddy, you better take your fucking hand off me right now or I'll rip your pissing arm off. If that prick wants to talk to me so urgently, he can get off his fucking magical throne and come down here to my level, alright?"
"I... You don't understand Captain. You... you have to come with me. I can't..." The man's hand tightened even more, and a twinge of pain went through George's body. The kid was strong. Stronger than he looked. George winced, and batted Steve's hand off his shoulder. Steve responded by reaching out with both hands and grabbing George, lifting him out of his seat on to his feet. "We have to go to the lab, now."
George was surprised for a second, but then his military training and martial skill, unused for so long came flooding back. Muscle memory guided his hands as he reached up and grabbed Steve's wrist and twisted hard, turning his own body to guide Steve towards the ground. He felt a satisfying pop as the torque on Steve's wrist brought it past its natural limits and the man smashed into the ground with a broken arm.
"Oh God. Steve," Molly said from across the small room. George looked over to her, and made eye contact. She looked disappointed. "Well, shit," he thought, and hobbled quickly out of the cafeteria, leaving a moaning Steve to be attended to by a table full of scientists.
There was a knock on the door of his bunk.
"Piss off," he shouted.
"I can't do that Mr. Shipley." It was Donaghue. "I have need of your services."
George got up off his bed and went over to the door. He opened it and saw the great man himself standing in front of him.
"Donaghue. Long time no see. Glad to see you're still alive." The doctor somehow looked younger and stronger than he ever had. Another reason to hate the bastard. "Not really Of course," he added. "I'm actually quite disappointed."
"You're a funny man Mr. Shipley. Can I come inside?"
"No. The memory of you even standing at the door to my room is likely to keep me up at night. What do you want?"
"Okay. Brass tacks then. I need to go back."
There was no need for Donaghue to say where. George knew exactly where he wanted to go. The Markham base. The place where VanderTuin had died. The place where Finn and Maggie still were; where George had left them.
"Go fuck yourself, Donaghue. If you want to badly to go back there, you can walk."
"Well that's just not practical. Mr. Shipley..."
"And stop calling me Mister. It's Captain, you old fuck." Donaghue took a deep breath.
"Okay. Captain Shipley. I want to go back to recover the bodies of our dead comrades. Off the books of course. The company would never give the thumbs up to going back out there after what happened last time..."
"When you pointed a gun at me and made me leave a deaf woman to freeze to death or get killed by whatever it was that killed Finn and VanderTuin?"
"Yes, if you like. I saved our lives Captain. I won't apologise for that. I want to do right by them though. I want to give them a burial. I want to give their families some closure."
"Bullshit. You don't give a fuck about their families."
"I mean it. Captain Shi... George, please. I'm an old man. I have few regrets, but leaving that poor woman behind is... it's a special kind of pain. I just want..."
"Fuck. Fine. Tomorrow. Eleven-hundred. Bring three others, armed and experienced, okay? No scientists unless they know how to fire a weapon."
"You have a deal Mr. Shipley." George shot Shipley a hard look. "Oh, Captain. Yes."
George closed his door. Donaghue turned and walked out of the residential unit. Harmon waited in the corridor.
"Why didn't you just convert him?" Harmon asked.
"I know that man too well," Donaghue replied. "He doesn't deserve it."
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