The security chief had just left the medbay when the ship-wide visual comms chimed. I shifted my hand off the newly holstered weapon at my hip and looked up at the comm screen. A pre-recorded message started playing, displaying someone identified as the captain of the Sector One vessel Chariot. It was clear from his voice and facial features that he was desperately pleading with Captain Jameson to wait for them.

I stared at the screen long after it had finished playing and then the ship-wide audio comms chimed.

“All on-duty officers report to their stations. All medical staff report to the medbay.”

Oh, this could not be good.

I glanced around the empty medical bay and wondered if there was a procedure I was supposed to be following. They clearly expected some sort of backlash from the message that had played. Had the captain authorised it?

“Pavo,” I whispered; stars alone knew why I was whispering. “What’s going on?”

“I have released Captain Jameson of his obligation.”

What? He’d fired the captain?

I didn’t have time to get more out of the AI because the doctor came barrelling into the medbay.

“Are you armed?” he asked before even greeting me.

“Yes, sir,” I said, standing straighter. Habit.

“Good. God willing we won’t need it, but the captain expects some form of chaos.”

“The captain’s still…the captain?”

Doctor Medina looked at me as though I might be going mad.

“Of course he is. Did you think Mayor Cecil was?”

I shook my head. Maybe the doctor didn’t know yet.

“What sort of chaos, sir?” I asked, aware Medina was confirming we had emergency packs at the ready.

“The civilian population will be emotional at best, volatile at worst. In such situations, Lieutenant, en masse riots can occur.”

“On a ship, sir?”

“Location is irrelevant. How many people do you think know someone who knows someone in that Sector One Fleet?”

“Point taken, sir.”

“Now…” he started just as someone dragged in a person covered in blood. “Blast it,” the doc muttered. “No time.”

“Box of datapads landed on him from the mezzanine floor, Doc,” the unbloodied half of the pair said.

“Over here,” the doctor ordered. The man loaded the patient onto a bed.

I approached and started a medical scan. Within minutes, two more people came in; one of them unconscious.

“What the hell happened here?” the doctor demanded.

“Fighting outside the mayor’s office. Archibald’s security whacked him with the butt of their plasma rifle.”

“Well,” Doc said, “I suppose we can be thankful they didn’t fire the bloody thing.”

“Medical assistance required in the mayor’s offices,” Pavo announced, sounding more like an AI than he had been lately.

I didn’t have time to contemplate that; several people stormed into the medbay demanding the doctor take care of them.

“See here!” one woman shouted. “I want my son attended to immediately.”

“Sit down over there,” the doctor said neutrally.

“I will not have my son sitting on your filthy floor!”

“It’s the floor or the hall, your choice.”

“Now, listen here, young man.” Doc was not exactly a young man, but then the woman was ancient. “I did not pay several million dollars to obtain top tier berths for my family only to be treated like a pay-for-passage. What tier berth does this man have?” She pointed to the datapad patient.

“That, dear lady, is irrelevant,” the doctor snapped.

“Medical assistance required in the mayor’s offices.”

“It is absolutely relevant. I am a top tier!”

Doc shone a light in her son’s eyes. “Sit down over there,” he repeated.

“That will not do! I shall complain to Damon immediately.” She lifted her wrist comm and started tapping away furiously.

“My leg! My leg!” someone yelled from the makeshift stretcher being brought in by Anderson Universal crewmen. I thought they might be security, but I was too busy stopping the bleeding on someone’s arm which had passed through a glass sculpture.

“Plasma gun?” the doctor asked mildly.

“Those bloody Archibald mercs!” a midshipman snarled. “Doc, they shot into the crowd outside the mayor’s office. We grabbed the people we could and ran, but there’s still some up there.”

Three more midshipmen entered with makeshift stretchers

“Doctor! My son’s collapsed!”

“How many more up there?” the doc asked the crewman, triaging the wounded in the next breath.

“About three we couldn’t reach that need urgent attention. The rest are ambulatory.”

“He’s not breathing! I will have your head, doctor if you don’t save his life right this second.”

“Some of ‘em were bad, Doc.”

“Doctor! I must insist!”

“Medical assistance required in the mayor’s offices.”

Doc ran a hand through his hair and sighed. His eyes met mine across the room.

“You better take a bag and check out the mayor’s offices, Ana,” he said.

I nodded my head and reached for a portable med kit. This was what I was good at. On-site medical assessment and treatment in the middle of a war zone.

It should not have excited me so much.

And then I remembered Sam.

“Midshipman,” Doc said, “I’m going to second two of you to assist in here.”

“Sir!”

“Under Anderson Universal Charter, chapter three, paragraph 7.2, I hereby reassign you to the medbay.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Doctor!” the woman screeched.

Doc moved over to the woman’s son and checked his pulse and breathing.

“He’s fainted. He’s fine. Sit here.”

I pushed through the crowded medbay and made it to the door.

“Lieutenant!” Doc called. I looked back over my shoulder at him. “Be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and hefted the med kit up and started moving.

A midshipman fell into step beside me.

“You’re the new nurse?”

I glanced at his uniform and managed to locate the insignia for security.

“And you’re security.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kept pace as I ran down the corridors, avoiding all the main thoroughfares automatically. The closer we got to the central lift, the more damage we saw. Datapads and wrist comms, a scorch mark indicating plasma fire, a pool of blood. A dented gel wall. A child’s small doll, it’s arm torn off.

An uneasy feeling settled in my gut. I’ve seen shit. I’ve seen a lot of really bad shit. But somehow, seeing shit on board a spaceship flying through the vacuum of space seemed so much worse.

“Where is everyone?” I asked as we slowed to approach the lift doors.

“Main deck.”

“They can’t all be there,” I said.

“All the troublemakers are,” he clipped, reaching forward and hitting the gel wall to call the lift.

The uneasy feeling grew bigger inside my belly.

I stepped in behind him and let him press the screen for the main deck. The lift quietly hummed as it moved imperceptibly upward.

The midshipman drew his weapon and stepped in front of me just before the doors to the main deck opened. I considered drawing my gun, but I was reluctant to escalate any scene we might be met with.

The doors swished open to an eerie silence. Pinpricks of unease skittered down my spine. The crewman was well trained. He didn’t step out, but crouched down and quickly peered around the doors to either side.

“Clear,” he whispered.

I drew my gun. Fuck avoiding escalation. This felt all kinds of wrong.

“Mayor’s office is that way,” the midshipman whispered with a nod of his head across a destroyed central hub.

“How the hell did this happen so quickly?” I muttered.

“Leak came from the mayor’s office,” the crewman said. “Mayor’s junior intern cracked fleet-wide comms. It was already a powder keg waiting to go off. As soon as they knew the intern had been arrested and thrown in the brig, they stormed the mayor’s offices.”

“Who stormed the mayor’s offices?”

“The civies. Loaded for bear with kitchen utensils. Couple had managed to get hold of plasma guns. But Archibald’s mercs shot first.”

I scanned the central hub and nodded towards the side walls. We crept out and kept close to the shadows, making our way to the other side where the mayor’s offices were.

Feathers floated on the air in some macabre fairytale display. Stuffing of low lying couches spilt out like strings of intestines all over the gel-coated floor. All this had happened in little over an hour?

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, as we made the far side of the open space.

“They wouldn’t have done anything if the mayor hadn’t imposed a curfew.”

A curfew. The man was mad. Way to inflame the situation.

“These are meant to be well-to-do people,” I growled.

“Well-to-do people can riot,” the midshipman said just as he peered around the corner into the mayor’s corridor.

And got shot point blank in the face.