Redshirts

give you your orientation, and Jake and Fiona will catch you up on anything else you want to know. All you have to do is ask. Also, as the new guy you’re on coffee duty.”
    “I was already told about that,” Dahl said.
    “Good,” Collins said. “Because I could use a cup right about now. Ben, get him set up.”
    *   *   *
    “So, did you guys get asked about away teams?” Duvall asked, as she brought her mess tray to the table where Dahl and Hanson were already sitting.
    “I did,” Hanson said.
    “So did I,” Dahl said.
    “Is it just me, or does everyone on this ship seem a little weird about them?” Duvall asked.
    “Give me an example,” Dahl said.
    “I mean that within five minutes of getting to my new post I heard three different stories of crew buying the farm on an away mission. Death by falling rock. Death by toxic atmosphere. Death by pulse gun vaporization.”
    “Death by shuttle door malfunction,” Hanson said.
    “Death by ice shark,” Dahl said.
    “Death by what ?” Duvall said, blinking. “What the hell is an ice shark?”
    “You got me,” Dahl said. “I had no idea there was such a thing.”
    “Is it a shark made of ice?” Hanson asked. “Or a shark that lives in ice?”
    “It wasn’t specified at the time,” Dahl said, spearing a meat bit on his tray.
    “I’m thinking you should have called bullshit on the ice shark story,” Duvall said.
    “Even if the details are sketchy, it fits your larger point,” Dahl said. “People here have away missions on the brain.”
    “It’s because someone always dies on them,” Hanson said.
    Duvall arched an eyebrow at this. “What makes you say that, Jimmy?”
    “Well, we’re all replacing former crew members,” Hanson said, and then pointed at Duvall. “What happened to the one you replaced. Transferred out?”
    “No,” Duvall said. “He was the death by vaporization one.”
    “And mine got sucked out of the shuttle,” Hanson said. “And Andy’s got eaten by a shark. Maybe. You have to admit there’s something going on there. I bet if we tracked down Finn and Hester, they’d tell us the same thing.”
    “Speaking of which,” Dahl said, and motioned with his fork. Hanson and Duvall looked to where he pointed to see Hester standing by the end of the mess line, tray in hand, staring glumly around the mess hall.
    “He’s not the world’s most cheerful person, is he,” Duvall said.
    “Oh, he’s all right,” Hanson said, and then called to Hester. Hester jumped slightly at his name, seemed to consider whether he should join the three of them, and then appeared to resign himself to it, walked over and sat down. He began to pick at his food.
    “So,” Duvall finally said, to Hester. “How’s your day?”
    Hester shrugged and picked at his food some more, then finally grimaced and set down his fork. He looked around the table.
    “What is it?” Duvall asked.
    “Is it just me,” Hester said, “or is everyone on this ship monumentally fucked up about away missions?”

CHAPTER THREE
    Dahl was at his workstation, classifying Theta Orionis XII spores, when Ben Trin’s work tablet pinged. Trin glanced at it, said “I’m going to get some coffee,” and headed out the door.
    What’s wrong with my coffee? Dahl wondered, as he went back to his work. In the week since his arrival on the Intrepid, Dahl had, as promised, been tasked with the role of coffee boy. This consisted of keeping the coffee pot in the storage room topped off and getting coffee for his lab mates whenever they rattled their mugs. They weren’t obnoxious about it—they got their own coffee more often than not—but they enjoyed exercising their coffee boy privileges from time to time.
    This reminded Dahl that he needed to check on the status of the coffee pot. Cassaway had been the last one to get a cup; Dahl looked up to ask him if it was time for him to start another pot.
    He was alone in the lab.
    “What the hell?” Dahl said, to himself.
    The outside door to the lab slid open and Q’eeng and Captain Abernathy stepped through.
    Dahl stood and saluted. “Captain, Commander,” he said.
    Q’eeng looked around the laboratory. “Where are your crewmates, Ensign Dahl?” he said.
    “Errands,” Dahl said, after a second.
    “He’ll do,” Abernathy said, and strode forward purposefully toward Dahl. He held a small vial. “Do you know what this is?” he said.
    A small vial, Dahl thought, but did not say. “A xenobiological